


Kompression

by LadyKarai



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Mystery, Nonverbal Communication, Reincarnation, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKarai/pseuds/LadyKarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began with a house and a dream, but by its end, there will be magic, murder, and the answers to questions long dead but never destroyed. The boy in his basement will see to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The house was nothing like Cloud's usual style, yet for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it. It was too rural with too much acreage, yet the moment he saw it listed on his agent's website, he wanted to see it. When he saw it, the flowered wallpaper and rose-colored carpets made his skin crawl, but he knew he'd put an offer in on it. It really didn't matter how many bathrooms it had or when the kitchen had been redone or how old the water heater was. He wanted that house.

"Sometimes a house speaks to you on an emotional level," his agent had said when he had talked to her about it. "It grips your heart even though you can't explain why."

"Except that Cloud doesn't have emotions," Tifa had muttered lowly to herself.

Tifa hated the house, although Cloud understood it was less because of the structure itself and more the fact that he would be moving so far away from her. They had been friends, and only friends, since middle school, yet she still believed that, if she only had patience, he would eventually come to his senses and fall madly in love with her. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't going to happen. Truthfully, he did love her, just not in the way she wanted.

Buying a house for himself was, in part, an opportunity for Cloud to distance himself from his past and his younger self. He had been out of college for a few years now, holding down a steady job and making decent money, yet he still felt as adrift now as he had as an adolescent. He needed to find a way to ground himself, needed to, as his mother would say if she were still alive, become a "responsible adult". Becoming a homeowner was, he hoped, the first step in that process.

The afternoon after being shown the house he had already begun to think of as "his", Cloud visited the real estate office to fill out the paperwork for his offer. He had planned on skipping the traditional low-ball offer and just starting with something reasonable, but when his agent told him that someone else had put in an offer on the house that morning, he immediately threw an additional $2000 on the total and waived the home inspection. The thought of someone else getting that house made his heart clench and his stomach turn for reasons he didn't understand. He didn't know why but he wanted that house, he _needed_ that house, and there was no way in hell he was letting it get away from him.

He barely slept that night. Thankfully, the following day was Saturday, so he spent the day puttering about his apartment, pretending to be productive, and lunging at the phone every time it rang. Tifa called at one point, asking if he wanted to go out to lunch with her, and while, on hindsight, perhaps he had been a bit too harsh in telling her to leave him the hell alone, she really should have known better. He was waiting for news of his house, goddammit; he didn't have time to talk to her.

When the call finally came, Cloud could tell from his agent's tone of voice that the news was good even before she happily told him his offer had been accepted. Relief washed through him, pulling the strength from his legs and forcing him to sit down while they discussed the next step. By the time he hung up, Cloud felt exhausted and completely drained. He went to bed early that night and slept straight through until morning.

The next few months passed far too slowly for Cloud's liking, but finally the awaited day for settlement arrived. He showed up at the real estate office with a cashier's check made out for a ludicrous amount of money and an enormous stack of paperwork from the bank. He met the previous owners of his house - an elderly couple off to Florida for their retirement - signed and initialed dozens of documents without really reading them, and patiently endured his agent's attempts to serve him refreshments in spite of his repeated refusals. It was a process undoubtedly designed to slowly suck the life out of him, but it was all worth it the moment he held those keys in his hand.

"Congratulations," his agent said as she walked him to the door.

He just smiled at her.

Thirty minutes later, Cloud stood astride his motorcycle at the bottom of his driveway and gazed up the hill at his house. A little smile flickered over his face as he realized what he must look like to his new neighbors. Considering his age, the black leather jacket, the sunglasses, and the bike, they were probably bemoaning the end of their peace and quiet and the ruination of the entire neighborhood. They'd find out soon enough that he wasn't the type to have parties all night long with lots of loud music and alcohol. In fact, he'd probably be the one with the complaints; one of his neighbors was a horse farmer.

Tired of looking at just the outside, Cloud disengaged the kickstand of his bike and drove up the long driveway to the garage. A few moments later, he had opened the front door and was standing inside his empty front hallway. Just like the first time he had entered the house, something inside his chest tightened just slightly. It wasn't a feeling of being home as much as a feeling of being where he needed to be, although there was a restless edge to it as well, a sense that he needed to do something. He had thought that by owning the house the emotion might settle or even go away, but it hadn't. If anything, it had gotten a bit stronger.

Shaking off the feeling for now, Cloud decided that the first thing he needed to do was walk through the house and figure out where to put his stuff. He started with the second floor, choosing one of the smaller bedrooms for himself, at least until he could get that horrendous wallpaper off the walls of the master bedroom. The third bedroom would have to be similarly redecorated, but then it could be a study or some other type of workroom. Downstairs, he resolved to redo the rec room immediately if not sooner. He would store his furniture in the dining room until that was done because, truthfully, what was he going to do with a dining room? As for the kitchen, it was decently decorated although a bit too pastel for his tastes. Still, considering the amount of work he was going to have to do to remove the general fluffiness of the previous owners, it was nice to have one room he could just move into. That just left the basement to look over. His mind still thinking about paint and new carpeting, Cloud turned to go downstairs and stepped forward.

He stopped abruptly when he walked into a wall.

Blue eyes blinking, he regarded the blank space in front of him for several seconds. He had thought that that was where the door to the basement was. In fact, he had been sure of it; he had turned purely on instinct. The door had to be there. Yet there was no door. Confused, Cloud looked around and quickly spotted a door a few feet away. That's right, that was the door to the basement. So why had he been so sure it was here instead? For a moment, Cloud just stood there, shifting his gaze between where the door was and where it was supposed to be; then, he shrugged and walked over to the real door instead.

That night, he went back to his apartment and finished up the packing he had started weeks ago. The following morning, Barrett showed up with his truck, Tifa showed up with coffee, Aerith showed up with donuts and muffins, and Yuffie showed up with an appetite.

"No more donuts until you do some work," Cloud told her once she had eaten four of them. Yuffie whined of course, but when Tifa entered the argument on his side, she shut up and started carrying boxes.

It took them most of the day and Cloud ended up buying both lunch and dinner for all of them, but by the time all his friends headed home, utterly exhausted and desperate for showers, everything Cloud owned rested safely beneath his new roof. The lease on his apartment wouldn't run out until the end of the month, but he didn't want to be there. He wanted to be here in spite of the longer commute to work and the horrible décor. And so that night, after he had showered and dried off, Cloud collapsed onto his bed, tired, sore, surrounded by boxes, and extremely happy.

When he slept, he dreamed. He was running. From nowhere, towards nowhere, but running, always running. And as he ran, he searched. Where was he? He had to find him. His heart pounded and his breath rasped in his lungs, but he couldn't stop. He had to find him before it was too late. Desperation coursed through him and a little bit of anger as well. Anger at himself for letting him go, anger at him for going, anger at his helplessness, his fear. It pushed him forward, sustained him as he ran and ran.

And then he was no longer running but standing before a closed door, staring at its painted surface. Somehow he knew that the one for whom he searched was behind that door. Yet he couldn't get his body to move. Again and again, he willed his body to step forward, to grasp that knob and turn it, but he remained frozen in place, simply looking at it. In time, the door and the dream began to fade until there was only a gray mist, then nothing, and Cloud woke up, feeling disappointed and alone.

For the next two weeks, Cloud went to work, unpacked boxes, tore down wallpaper, hung out with friends when he felt like it, and generally went about his life in a normal fashion. At night he dreamed. Every night it was the same: the running, the searching, the door, and finally the sadness and the pain. He told Barrett about it, but the man had been no help.

"Yer workin' too hard," he had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Take a vacation."

He didn't tell Tifa or Aerith about it. While the women would undoubtedly have had better advice, they would also worry, and Cloud didn't want to do that to them. The dream wasn't horrible or ruining his sleep. It was just strange how it was exactly the same, night after night. The tight feeling in his chest hadn't lessened either, although Cloud attributed it to the large amount of redecorating he had to do. The house just wouldn't be his until there wasn't a single flower left on the walls.

On the third Saturday after moving into his new house, Cloud decided that it was time to check out the nearby town. Ten minutes or so later, he was cruising down the main street, checking out the storefronts and shopping areas. While he had only had one glance, and that at 35 mph, it seemed that the town was divided into two parts: a more traditional, "quaint" area with family-owned stores and local businesses, and a corporate explosion with McDonalds, Starbucks, 7-Eleven, etc. He knew that eventually he would hang out in the home-grown area more, but for now, he wanted a coffee and something to eat, preferably something that was horrifically bad for you. And he was already in the plastic part of town.

When he rolled into the Starbucks' parking lot, engine growling, a knot of teenagers all looked up at him with awe in their faces. He ignored them and the scowling looks of a couple of middle-aged women nearby, and instead strolled into the store, removing his sunglasses as he did so. A few people stared at him inside as well, but most stayed glued to their laptops and paperbacks or ignored him in favor of their own important and enlightening conversations. After a brief debate, Cloud chose a blueberry scone that looked like it had an entire day's worth of calories all by itself and ordered a black coffee to go with it. The barista took his money with a plastered-on smile, handed him his pastry, and went to pour his coffee.

"Hey."

Cloud turned to find a dark-haired girl smiling up at him from where she leaned against the counter, a cup of something full of cream and half-drunk in her hands.

"Haven't seen you here before, and I come here every weekend," she said. "You new around here?"

Cloud noted with internal amusement that she looked a bit like Tifa, but her hair wasn't as long and her chest definitely wasn't as impressive. "Just moved in," he answered her shortly, turning away. "Couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, I see." He could tell by her voice that she was trying her best to flirt with him. Too bad for her that kind of thing didn't work on him. If it had, he would have been married to Tifa years ago. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thanks."

His barista had gotten waylaid by another one, obviously a trainee, and had moved off to help make some complicated drink with shots and chocolate shavings. Cloud frowned. He could see his plain coffee just there over on the other counter. If someone would just give it to him, he could leave.

"I'm Rinoa. Rinoa Heartilly." Her hand was out, but he ignored it. Unfortunately, she didn't take offense, and after a moment of silence, she put her hands on her hips and laughed lightly. "When someone offers you their name, it's customary to give yours, you know."

He sighed internally. Why was this type of girl always attracted to him? "Cloud Strife."

A beat passed where the girl was quiet and Cloud stared at his coffee, willing it to float over to him. Then, Rinoa cried, " _You're_ Cloud Strife? You're the asshole who took my house?"

Surprised, Cloud turned and finally gave her his full attention. Her face held an expression identical to his own, all shock and astonishment. "Wait," he said, "what do you mean your house? Are you talking about - ?"

"Yes," she interrupted him with a slight frown. "I've wanted that house for years, you know. I was so happy when it went on the market. I'd saved up a good amount for a down-payment and gotten an agreement from the bank, and I thought that I'd finally get it. And then you," she leaned forward a bit, her frown morphing into a pout, "had to come in and snatch it away from me." A small 'humph' noise escaped her as she leaned back again and took a sip of her drink. "Do you have any idea how much I hated you?" she asked over the rim of her cup.

"Sorry," he replied, and in some degree, he was. He knew how upset he would have been if he hadn't gotten the house.

Rinoa humphed again, but a little smile was creeping into her lips. "If I hadn't already gotten a drink, I'd make you buy me one," she mused. Said drink lowered from her face, and Cloud could easily see the twinkle in her eyes. "Tell you what, you come in next Saturday and buy me a drink. We'll talk, get to know each other, and then maybe I'll forgive you. What do you say?"

He wanted to say that he wasn't interested and that she was wasting her time, but he did feel bad about taking what had obviously been a dream away from her. So, he agreed, and Rinoa smiled and called it a date before she wandered away. When the barista appeared with Cloud's coffee, apologizing for the delay, he took it and his scone to a window seat where he could watch his bike and glare at any salivating teen who got too close. He didn't think twice about the promise he had made or the woman to whom he had made it.

That night, the dream was different. It started with him running, as usual, but when the door appeared, he could tell something was off. His skin prickled as if someone was watching him, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. This time, he didn't even try to reach for the door. He just stood and stared at it, more petrified than he had ever been.

' _Well, go on.'_

The voice startled him terribly, nearly drawing a shout from him as he twirled around to face the speaker. All at once, he knew where he was. This was his kitchen, his new kitchen in his new house in which he had been living for the past three weeks. No, no, it was _her_ kitchen. And there she was, standing at the stove with her back to him, stirring something slowly in a saucepan. She was tall and slender, with dark, dark hair that fell all the way to her lower back. He knew she was beautiful, but she didn't turn towards him. He doubted he would be able to see her face if she did.

' _What are you waiting for?'_

Her voice, soft and seductive, spurred him into action. Turning back to the door, he willed his foot to move forward. To his surprise, it obeyed, and soon he was grasping the doorknob, beginning to turn it. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at him, telling him to get out of there, telling him to run, but he was too overjoyed to listen to it. He was behind that door. He knew he was. If he could just get to him, everything would be all right. The knob turned, the lock clicked, and he threw open the door.

Cloud woke up screaming. Desperately he grasped first at his heart, trying to calm it, then at his mouth, willing himself not to be sick. The last thing he remembered before waking was pain. Pain and bone-deep fear. It had been so strong that he could still feel the echoes of it thrumming through his body. The sheets, he noticed once he had calmed down enough, were soaked in sweat, and he had not only torn out the top sheet but also dislodged a corner of the fitted sheet with his thrashing. His dream, which he had been having every night since moving in, had officially become a nightmare.

"Shit," he muttered and rolled out of bed.

After washing his face and running damp fingers through his hair, Cloud decided that he needed a drink to settle himself down before trying to go back to sleep. He had made it the whole way downstairs and had pulled a glass out of the cabinet before his brain woke up enough to realize where he was. This kitchen had been in his nightmare. If he took one, maybe two, steps to the right, he would be standing where the mysterious woman had been, right in front of the stove. And as for the door … Cloud turned to the correct place and found himself staring at a blank wall, the same wall he had nearly walked into on the day he had bought the house.

Drink forgotten, Cloud moved to the small kitchen table he had bought from IKEA, and sat in the chair that faced the wall. He had been so certain on that first day that there was a door there, and since then, even though he knew the door to the basement was in a different place, he had accidentally gone to that wall at least once every couple of days, expecting to find something that wasn't there. Now his mind had placed the door in his dreams in that spot as well. It was driving him crazy, if he wasn't half-way there already.

Slowly, Cloud rose and walked to the wall. He gently ran his hands up and down the surface, feeling for irregularities or cracks, but he found nothing. The wall appeared completely solid and level. As far as he could tell, there was no secret passageway and nothing was hiding underneath the plaster. It was a perfectly normal, perfectly ordinary wall. So why did both his mind and his gut tell him there was a door there? Frustrated, Cloud sighed and, eyes closed, rested his forehead against the surface. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed he was looking down at the area of the wall where the doorknob would have been if there were a door. He had had that dream so much, seen that door so many times, that he knew exactly where the knob would be, how far away from the wall in both directions. Smirking to himself at just how crazy he was being, he lifted a hand and brought it down to grasp at the air as if he was going to turn it.

Cloud froze, eyes going wide. His hand had just hit something solid. Solid and cold, like metal. Breath beginning to shudder, he flexed his fingers a bit to make sure it was really there. The firmness of the invisible object did not change. Fear began to rise within him, but Cloud closed his eyes and fought it back down. He wanted to take his hand away to see if it would happen a second time, but he was also afraid that if he let go, he'd never find it again. So he held on, fighting the disbelief and the panic until he could breathe without panting, until his heart no longer felt like it was going to beat its way up his throat. And then, praying to God that he wasn't going insane, he turned it.

Something clicked, and like a mirage shimmering into existence, the door appeared. It was exactly how it had been in his dreams, down to the chipping paint along one side of the frame. Cloud swallowed hard when he saw it. It had to be another dream - things like this just didn't happen in real life - but somehow he knew that it wasn't. This was real; the door was real. At the moment, he had only opened it a slight crack, but Cloud knew he couldn't stop there. As much as he didn't really want to, he knew he had to open it and see what was on the other side. Somehow he knew that the nightmare would just keep coming back until he did. And so, after a moment to steady himself and his emotions, Cloud breathed in slowly, breathed out in the same way, and then pushed the door wide.

Based on the amount of fear and pain he had felt in his most-recent dream, he half expected for something large and ugly with lots of teeth and tentacles to come jumping out. In reality, it was only a stairway leading down. Cloud stood at the top for a minute, gazing down into the darkness, then left to find a flashlight. When he came back several minutes later, he took a long moment to shine the beam down the stairs and just observe. Basement by the look of it. The other half of his half-basement that his agent had told him was so small because of draining issues. Stone walls flanked both sides of the stairs, limiting his ability to see what was down there, so, reluctantly, Cloud began to descend, keeping alert for any sounds or smells that would notify him of danger as he did so.

When he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in what appeared to be a study. There was a desk, several bookshelves filled with books, and a few chairs scattered about. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary or worth Cloud's immediate investigation, and after a few minutes of shining the flashlight around, he considered going back to bed. Then, he noticed the wall at the other end of the room. It was a simple thing, made of plywood, meant to be a divider of space and not much else. What caught Cloud's attention, however, was the fact that he could just barely see a faint light coming from beneath the simple plywood door.

As he walked toward it, his sensible side told him to go back upstairs and wait until morning to do this. It was late, he was tired, and he wasn't equipped physically or mentally to handle any more surprises tonight. The tight feeling in his chest, however, urged him forward until he was gripping a knob for the second time in ten minutes. This time, he didn't need a preparatory breath, but opened the door easily and in one fluid motion. Immediately, his flashlight slipped from his other hand and clattered to the stone floor where it clicked off.

"Oh my God," Cloud breathed.

The room was unadorned, the floor and walls simple concrete. There was no furniture of any kind. In fact, the only things in the room were the intricate symbol painted on the floor, the four burning candles that sat at various points along the symbol, and the young man who floated in a column of light-blue light in the very center, some two feet off the ground.

"Oh my _God_ ," Cloud said again as he carefully made his way into the room. Again, his brain rebelled and declared that this couldn't be happening, but at the moment he was too fixated on the young man to care. He looked to be in his late teens, maybe six or seven years younger than Cloud, and he was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans with no shoes. There was a necklace around his neck, a silver chain with a lion's head pendant, but he appeared to have no other jewelry. His arms were held at 45 degree angles from his body, and Cloud could see that his eyes were closed beneath overly long brown bangs.

Slowly, Cloud walked once around the symbol on the floor, then a second time, this time looking at the markings instead of at the boy in the pillar of light. They looked like something one would see in a book about black magic or some other such rubbish. Each of the candles sat in a little circle drawn onto the ground within the symbol, and they burned merrily away without seeming to devour any wick or melt any wax. The blue light touched down in the middle of the symbol, but Cloud could see four faint blue lines radiating out to the four candles as if they were what was creating the column.

Finished with his examination, Cloud sat down next to a candle and gazed up at the teenager once more. He had to get the kid out of there. He had no idea what was going on, but that didn't matter right now. All his anxiety and confusion had vanished in the face of a living person down here. Because the kid was breathing, his chest rising and falling. Everything else could be figured out later. Right now, he needed to focus on getting the kid out. The problem was how. The light didn't look electrical, but Cloud wasn't about to put his hand in it and find out. Running his eyes over the whole set-up again produced the idea that perhaps blowing out the candles would cause the light to go away. Unfortunately, blowing on them had no effect and once again Cloud didn't want to run the risk of putting them out with his fingers or dousing them with water.

That left moving them or otherwise messing up the symbol on the floor. Carefully, Cloud examined the nearest candle and, finding it to be pretty much normal-looking, reached out a hand to move it out of its little circle. It wouldn't budge. Maybe it was glued to the floor, maybe whatever weirdness had produced all this had melded it to the stone, he didn't know, but for whatever reason, it wasn't moving. Seriously frustrated by now, Cloud wrapped his other hand around the little stick of wax and yanked. After pulling one way for a minute or two, he pulled the other way, thinking that maybe it would be weaker on that side. Eventually, he shifted his position so he could dig his heels into the floor.

The second it started to slide, Cloud felt his heart jump. He threw himself back into the fight with renewed energy and confidence. His muscles strained, screaming at him for relief, but he ignored them and pressed on. Every millimeter of movement took an eternity, but eventually he could see the progress he was making. Every so often, he would glance up at the boy in the pillar to remind himself why he was presently engaged in a life-or-death struggle with a candle, and each time he did, he seemed to get another burst of strength from some reserve he didn't know he had. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the last little bit of wax slid free of the painted circle, and immediately, the blue light that led from it to the center faded away.

In the next second, the pillar shook, crackled like static, and then began to dissolve. When the last of it faded away, Cloud was there to catch the young man as he fell forward. Guided only by three flecks of candlelight that were quickly sputtering out, Cloud carried the boy out of the back room and completely out of the basement, not stopping until he had kicked the phantom door shut and laid his burden gently on the couch that currently sat in his not-dining-room.

"Hey," he murmured, once he had checked the boy for injuries. "Hey, kid. Can you hear me?"

Slowly, the other's eyelids rose, revealing blank gray eyes that stared straight up without seeing.

"Kid," Cloud tried again after a moment of silence. "Are you all right? Can you talk to me?"

The eyes shifted, and Cloud watched as they focused on his face. In the next moment, however, they rolled backwards and the lids closed once more as the boy fell into a faint.

"It's okay," Cloud told him, gripping his shoulder lightly. "You're going to be okay." He paused for a moment at the teenager's side, just to convince himself one more time that the other was real. Then, he was on his feet and headed towards the phone to call for an ambulance, not realizing that the tightness in his chest had completely disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a hospital not too far from his house, but Cloud chose the hospital in his old neighborhood for the simple reason that Aerith worked there. He had known from talking to her earlier in the week that she was working that day, so when she came in for her shift, he was waiting for her, stalking the nurses' station like some jungle predator.

"They're saying only family can see him," he complained as she was attempting to sign herself in, "but no one can identify him, so no one knows who his family is. I argued that since I'm the one paying for it, I should be allowed in, but no one is listening to me." He scowled viciously at her, then at a random nurse who jumped and quickly found another place to be. Growling to himself, he continued, "This whole thing is stupid. Are family members the only people who love a person? If I were in there instead, would I not be allowed any visitors because nobody in my family is still alive? I bet Tifa would have something to say about that. They'd be the ones in need of visitors by the time she got done with them."

"All right, Cloud," Aerith sighed at him finally, shaking her head, "I'll see what I can do. Honestly, I don't think I've ever heard you say so much at one time before. And all for some boy you … what was it? Found collapsed in your yard?"

"That's right." That had been the story he had concocted since, if he told the truth, they'd put him in the hospital as well. For insanity.

"Fine." His friend quickly finished up what she had to do at the station, then turned to leave. He followed her for a few steps, not caring that he wasn't supposed to go where she was going, but she quickly spun around and confronted him with a mild frown. Raising her hand to point at the waiting area, she ordered, "Sit down and be patient. Read a magazine or something." The finger came up in front of her face like she was a schoolteacher scolding a small child. "No scaring anyone. Or else."

Cloud glared at her, but she ignored it, turned away again, and, with a bounce of braid and pink ribbon, was gone.

He had skimmed through the entire magazine selection by the time she came back. She had a couple of clipboards in her hands and was scanning one as she came up to him. Waiting for her to finish reading and give her attention to him was pure torture for Cloud, but he bit down tightly on his tongue and endured. Finally, after a seeming eternity, her pretty green eyes raised from the papers and met his.

"Did you scare anyone?" she asked him.

"No," he lied.

The expression in her eyes told him she knew the truth, but thankfully she seemed willing to let it go. "Well," she said, going back to her clipboards, "he's stable, and the doctors haven't been able to find anything specific that's wrong with him. He's unconscious, though, and no one knows for how long."

"I still want to see him."

Aerith met his gaze again, this time with a nod and a little smile. "Follow me," she said gently, turning away again.

The kid was in a private room for now, the hospital not being particularly busy. They had put him in a hospital gown and hooked him up to a few monitors and an IV, but overall he looked pretty much the same as when he had been floating in the column of light in his basement. Cloud walked straight over to the chair that stood by the head of the bed and sat down in it, leaning slightly forward with his elbows on his upper thighs. While Aerith moved about the room, quietly checking machines and charts, he let his eyes roam over the boy's face. He was certainly handsome with a striking profile and smooth skin over high cheekbones. That handsome face, however, was completely blank, making Cloud feel uneasy as he watched him. Even a sleeping person had some life in his face, some movement; this kid had nothing.

"Who are you, kid?" he murmured quietly. "What happened to you?"

"He didn't have anything on him that could be used to identify him?" Aerith asked from the other side of the room. "No wallet or phone?"

Cloud turned slightly in his seat to look at her. "Nothing," he replied. "His pockets were empty."

"Well," she sighed, turning back to whatever it was she was doing, "I talked to Vicky, the nurse in charge of him at the moment, and she said the police are currently looking through missing persons records to see if they can find anything. Other than that, there isn't much we can do until he wakes up."

Cloud made a noise of acknowledgement and turned back to the bed. A steady gray gaze waited for him. Startled, Cloud met it and, for a few heartbeats, just blinked. Then, he cleared his throat and called, "Aerith?"

"Hmm?" she replied idly, lazily lifting her head, but the moment she saw the kid, she gasped and snapped into action. In an instant, she was next to Cloud, leaning down slightly and checking the kid's vitals while she talked softly to him. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked. "Does anything hurt? Can you tell me your name? The last thing you remember?"

In spite of her gentle coaxing, the boy remained silent, his eyes unmoving from Cloud's face. Aerith tried again with some different questions, but after a few minutes, she fell silent as well and simply gazed at him thoughtfully. Carefully, she knelt down in front of the kid, temporarily obstructing Cloud's view of him. Cloud saw her moving her hands a bit, touching the boy in various places on the face and arms. Then, she rose to her feet and turned away, sighing.

"Poor thing," she said as she picked up her clipboards again and used the pencil attached to one of them to jot something down.

"What?" Cloud asked her, looking between her and that unnerving, fixed stare.

"He's catatonic," she replied sadly. She put the clipboard back down and stated, "I need to find Vicky. Will you be all right here, Cloud?"

Stunned, Cloud could only nod at her. Once she had left, he looked again at that handsome face and those blank, staring eyes and felt a lump forming in his throat. He had hoped that, once the young man had recovered, he could give Cloud some answers as to what exactly had happened the previous night. Why he had an invisible door and a fake basement and what that symbol and light had been and why it was there with the kid inside of it. But now it seemed those answers would not be coming any time soon. The kid could tell him nothing, not even his name.

Disappointed beyond words, Cloud stood from the chair and left the room without a backward glance. When he got home, he crawled into bed and slept for the remainder of the day, for the first time in weeks free from dreams.

The next day after work, Cloud planned on going straight home, but somewhere along his commute, he took a detour and ended up at the hospital instead. He didn't even really know why. He knew there was nothing he could do and that he was just wasting his time, but his body seemed to take him there on its own. Some subconscious part of him wouldn't be satisfied until he had checked up on the kid to make sure he was okay.

Earlier that morning, Aerith had sent him an email, berating him for leaving and telling him that nothing about the boy's condition had changed. Even so, a flicker of hope rose within him when he walked in to the room to find the kid sitting upright in a chair by the window, looking out at something beyond it. One look at that young face, however, extinguished that small flame before it could properly catch. The boy's expression was still nonexistent, and his eyes were still empty and dull.

Cloud wanted to just turn around and leave; instead he crossed to the window and leaned against the wall. This whole situation was hopeless and ridiculously depressing. He honestly didn't know why he had bothered to come at all. Yet for some reason, he felt like he couldn't just abandon this kid. He felt attached to him on some level, and he believed with a fair amount of conviction that if he didn't take care of the poor guy, no one would. So he would stay, at least for now.

"Oh, hello!" someone said from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts and causing him to turn his head in that direction. A pretty female nurse stood there smiling at him, her honey-brown hair pulled up into a high ponytail on the back of her head. "I'm Vicky," she told him. "Are you Cloud by any chance?" When he nodded, she smiled even more widely and stated, "Aerith told me about you. I'm so glad you came back. Johnny needs visitors if you ask me."

"Johnny?" he questioned as she began to busy herself about the room.

"You know," she answered, "John Doe. Because no one knows who he is. Except he's so young and cute that I didn't think 'John' fit him. So I thought about 'Juan' for awhile, like Don Juan, right? But that didn't fit him either, so I finally settled on 'Johnny' because I can't just call him Patient X or something like that. That would be so rude, don't you think? Of course, some people might think that giving a stranger a new name is kind of rude, but I think - oh …"

She had moved as quickly as she had talked, flitting about the room like some sort of hummingbird until Cloud wanted to grab her and tell her to sit down and shut up. As she passed close enough for him to try it, however, she suddenly stopped on her own and stared down at the young man in the chair. As relieved as he was at the sudden silence, it took Cloud a moment to follow her gaze. When he did, a pair of empty gray eyes gazed back at him.

"Oh," Vicky said again. She knelt down to be closer to the kid's eye level. "He's looking at you."

"Yeah," Cloud commented with a half-shrug. "He did that yesterday, too."

"He did?" A thoughtful look settled over the nurse's face as she considered her patient. Several quiet moments passed; then Vicky rose to her feet. "Cloud," she asked politely, "would you please step over there for a moment?" She indicated a spot a few feet away.

"Sure." He did as she had asked, thinking she needed some space to do something for her job, but instead she just stood there, watching him with a little smile on her face.

"Thank you. Now, say something to him." When Cloud just gave her a confused look, she tipped her head to the motionless figure in the chair and repeated, "Say something to him. Please."

Cloud wanted to protest or question, but in the face of that smile and that 'please', he decided to just go with it. He had learned long ago that it usually wasn't worth it to fight when it came to women. "Hey, kid," he called. "How you feeling?"

Instantly, the boy's eyes shifted to meet his own.

Cloud took a step back, shocked. Vicky just nodded and lifted her arm to point again, this time to a spot near the door. "Good. Now over there please. And when you're there, speak to him again."

Cloud did as she asked him, and this time, the kid turned his head so that he could meet Cloud's eyes. He did it a few more times, just to test it, and each time, those gray eyes would find him as soon as he spoke. They didn't follow him if he simply walked around the room, but the sound of his voice would bring them to him like guided missiles, every time without fail.

"What the hell?" Cloud demanded of the nurse after the kid had turned completely around in his seat to look at Cloud who had stood directly behind him.

"I think it's because you're the one who found him," she answered with a smile. "He must be associating your voice with safety. That's why you're the only one he responds to." Her smile suddenly widened into a grin, and she clapped her hands together happily. "I have to tell the doctor!" she announced, immediately bouncing towards the door. Just before she left, however, she turned on Cloud and ordered, "You have to come often and talk to him as much as possible. It'll help him get better."

"But I'm not really a talkative person -"

"You'll get better with practice," she cut him off. "You'll see. Okay? Bye!" And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

Cloud stared after her in shock for several seconds. Then, he looked down at the young man in the chair who was still staring up at him, his gaze a little to the left since Cloud had shifted. Something about that striking face made Cloud's heart twist within his chest. He knew he wasn't the most social of people, and although he cared deeply about his friends, he had never been the type to feel that way about strangers. Yet once again he felt some kind of connection to this mysterious, catatonic boy. It was making him want to do things that he normally would never have done for anyone he hadn't known for most of his life. It made him feel strange, off-balance.

Crossing to the other side of the room, Cloud picked up a folding chair and moved it to sit directly before the larger one the kid occupied. He settled into it, crossed his arms over his knees, and said quietly, "Hey, kid."

Immediately, the boy turned back around to face him, his empty eyes meeting his. Cloud gazed into them for a few minutes, looking in vain for any sign of emotion or thought. Eventually, he gave up and sighed lightly. "Look, kid," he told the other, "I'm not that much of a talker, and I can't promise that I'll be any good at this whatsoever. But if talking to you will make you snap out of whatever it is that has you stuck in there, I'm willing to do that. All right?"

As he expected, there was no response, but Cloud found himself smiling slightly anyway. On an impulse, he lifted a hand and brushed the boy's bangs out of his eyes a little bit.

"See you tomorrow, kid," he said warmly as he rose from his chair. "Take care of yourself till then."

For the rest of the week, Cloud followed a simple, set pattern. He went to work in the morning, stopped by the hospital on his way home to visit with the kid, then spent the rest of his evening exploring the study in his second basement. He had hoped that he would be able to find something there that would explain just what had been going on, but none of the books seemed to be very helpful. Most of them were old, thick, reference-type materials on a variety of subjects including biology, chemistry, American and European history, and horticulture. A few of the titles were so long and complicated that they made Cloud go cross-eyed. The desk drawers were equally disappointing: paper, pens, and things like paperclips and rubber bands. Nowhere was there anything like an organizer, a journal, or research notes. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find anything even remotely useful for figuring out this mystery.

The only concrete thing he had to go on was the symbol on the floor in the back room. Cloud knew that he wasn't about to understand it just by looking at it, but he did conduct a few experiments. All of the candles had burned out when he had moved the first one, so he replaced it and lit them all again to see if the pillar would return. It didn't. Also, whatever had kept the candles so solidly attached to the floor had been removed; he could pick them all up and move them around without trouble now. The symbol itself still reminded him of something one would see in a bad horror film about witches and pacts with the devil and such, so he took a few pictures of it and went online to see if he could find out anything. None of the sites he found had any "magic circle" examples that looked like his, but he did find a site that seemed a bit less ridiculous than the rest. On a hunch, or perhaps on an act of desperation, he created an account for himself and posted an inquiry with some of the pictures attached. That had been Thursday night.

On Friday after work, Cloud walked into the kid's hospital room to find him in the chair by the window again. He wore the gown and had an IV in his hand like usual, but something was different and it wasn't until Cloud had set his chair in its normal spot and sat down that he realized what it was.

"It was Vicky's idea," Aerith told him when she came in a few minutes later and found him examining the silver necklace that the kid held in one hand. "She thought that maybe since it was the only piece of jewelry he had, it might help him to hold it. As far as I can tell, though, it hasn't helped."

Cloud nodded but didn't say anything as he continued looking at the necklace and the hand that held it. The kid usually had his hands open and relaxed, but at some point after someone had given him the necklace, he had tightened his fist around it. It looked pretty tight, too, as if he wanted to protect it. Part of the pendant was hidden by his fingers, but Cloud could see some of it and he remembered the rest. The main part was a lion's head, caught in mid-roar, and underneath was some kind of inverted cross. It was definitely a unique piece of jewelry, something that Cloud had never seen before.

The longer he looked at it, the more Cloud began to wonder if he could discover the kid's identity using this necklace. If he could find the jeweler who made it or the one who sold it, he might be able to find out who had bought it. It was a long-shot and almost certain to end in frustration or failure, but it was something at least. The police had come up empty-handed with the missing persons reports and also hadn't found the boy's prints on file. Unless someone came along to identify and claim him - an event that was looking less and less likely by the day - they would never find out who he was or where he had come from.

His decision made, Cloud waited until Aerith had left the room again, then leaned forward and said, quietly, "Hey." When the kid's eyes turned to meet his, he reached out and placed his hand over the one that held the necklace. "Do you mind if I borrow this?" he asked. "I want to use it to see if I can find out who you are."

For a moment, neither of them moved; then, slowly, the tightly-closed fingers beneath his began to loosen. The kid's fist cracked open bit by bit until it had relaxed completely, leaving Cloud free to remove the chain.

"Thank you," he said as he pocketed the necklace. "I promise I'll bring it back to you. Now. I guess I'll tell you about my day or something." Sighing at how much he disliked this, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and began to talk.

That night, Cloud spent some amount of time online trying to find information on the lion pendant, but he didn't push himself as much as he had on other nights. It was Friday, and he had had a long week. If anyone had earned their right to some mindless TV, he reasoned, he had. So after about an hour of fruitless searching, he gave up and crashed in his recliner in front of the tube with some leftover pizza and a beer. Remote in hand, he flipped around for a bit before settling on some male-oriented reality show about guys in a weapons shop. That one was followed by a similarly high-testosterone show, and yet another came on after that. Cloud just vegged out in front of the dirt and drama, perfectly content. Eventually, his eyelids began to get heavy, but rather than go to bed, he let himself drift off in the comfort of his chair with the TV still rattling on in the background.

The dream came to him almost immediately. He wasn't running this time, just walking. Walking through a wasteland underneath a stormy gray sky. Unlike the previous dreams where he didn't always seem to be completely in control of his own actions and emotions, Cloud wandered through this one with a clear head, as alert as he would have been had he been awake. While at first he considered this to be an improvement, he soon realized just what a curse it was. There was nothing here. The ground was completely flat in all directions, nothing but dry cracked earth all the way to the distant horizon. The sky was covered by clouds; lightning threatened somewhere above the surface of them, but nothing managed to peek through their opaque cover. It was the closest thing to a void that Cloud had ever seen.

Completely at a loss as to what to do, he stopped walking, crossed his arms over his chest, and griped, "What the hell?"

"Who's there?"

The voice had come from behind him, sounding startled and rough. Immediately, Cloud whirled around on his heel. There, on the ground only a few feet away, was the kid. He was dressed the same way he had been when Cloud had pulled him from the column of light except without his necklace. Sitting in a sort of half-Indian-style, he had one leg folded to the side and the other bent at the knee with his bare foot on the ground. His head was tilted down, his hair hanging over his face.

Stunned, Cloud just stared at him for several heartbeats. He had just walked by that spot; the kid had appeared from nowhere. A moment later, however, he shook himself out of it, reminded himself that this was a dream and dreams were weird, and took a step towards the other. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

Instantly, the boy's head snapped up to look at him, but the sight of the familiar face made Cloud gasp out loud and take a step back. The gray eyes were alive with emotion and intelligence, and that face was frowning, his expression as heavy as the clouds over their heads. Seconds after their eyes met, the kid had scrambled out of his sitting position into a defensive-looking crouch as if ready to attack or run as needed. The empty shell that Cloud had become used to had come to amazing, vibrant life.

"Who are you?" the kid demanded, and his voice was scratchy like it hadn't been used in a long time. "Why are you here?"

"I … I …" Cloud stammered, too shocked to be able to speak properly. However, he pulled himself together quickly and, swallowing once to get his voice back, replied. "Cloud. My name is Cloud Strife. What's - ?"

"Why did you come here?" the other interrupted, not letting him ask the return question. "What do you want?"

Cloud shut his mouth and considered. He knew what he wanted. He wanted the boy's name and contact information for his family. He wanted to know what he had been doing in his basement, how long he had been there, and what the symbol and the light meant. He wanted to know why the kid was currently in his dream, perfectly fine, while in the real world he was little more than a vegetable. He wanted to know just what the hell was going on and what he could do to fix it and make everything normal again. That's what he wanted.

But those stormy eyes were narrowed with suspicion and more than a hint of fear, and that young body was coiled up like a spring, ready to bolt. Cloud knew he had to tread lightly, at least for a while.

"I don't want anything in particular," he told the boy in front of him. "As for why I'm here …" Assuming a casual stance, he turned his head one way, then the other, looking out over the barren landscape. "Where is 'here' exactly?" he asked, returning his attention forward again.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, for the boy straightened up from his crouch and stood. His suspicious gaze eased a bit as he looked Cloud over again from top to bottom. "I see," he said quietly after a moment. "You're trapped, too."

"Trapped?" Cloud echoed, surprised. "You're … I mean, we're trapped here?"

The boy nodded and looked away, finally at ease enough with the other to let up on his scrutiny. "When I first got here," he revealed in tired, half-dead tones, "I walked for ages, looking for a way out. I walked until I collapsed from exhaustion. Then, when I recovered, I walked again. I never found it. There is no way out."

"How long have you been here?"

Strands of brown bangs fell into his eyes as the boy shook his head. "Time has no meaning here," he replied to Cloud's question. "I have no idea."

In the ensuing silence, Cloud just breathed, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he thought about what to say next. Before he could decide, the kid turned his head back towards him, something like a sad smile flickering over his lips.

"So," he asked, "how did you get in here? Did she put you in?"

Cloud started to ask who 'she' was, but then he remembered. His nightmare. The woman at the stove. "Kind of tall and slender?" he asked. "Really long, really dark hair?"

The kid nodded. "That's her." He sighed slightly and glanced up at the sky. "It's been so long that I don't really remember, but I think I offered her a ride. But then when we got to her house, she -" His voice cut off suddenly as his eyes lowered and caught sight of something. "What's that?"

"What?" Cloud asked, more than a little disappointed that the explanation had stopped.

"That," the kid replied, lifting an arm to point. "In your pocket." His voice had taken on a hard edge, and his eyes had narrowed into suspicious slits once more.

Confused, Cloud stuck his hand in the pocket indicated and pulled out the silver chain and pendant that he had taken from the kid's catatonic counterpart that afternoon. He had completely forgotten that he had put it there. Considering that he didn't have his wallet, his keys, or his phone in any of his other pockets, it seemed odd that this would have made the journey into the dream world with him, but he didn't realize the significance of it until a low hissing drew his attention back to the boy in front of him.

He was clutching at the space around his neck, as if he had just realized that there was nothing there. "How did you get that?" he demanded. When Cloud opened his mouth to try to form an answer, he shook his head and cut him off, saying, "Never mind. Just give it back."

"But I -"

"I said give it back!"

The fear had returned to those gray eyes, and a large amount of anger as well. All of the softer, sadder emotions that had been there moments before had disappeared. As much as Cloud didn't want to return the necklace - he had asked permission to borrow it after all - he knew there was no point in keeping it. The kid wouldn't finish his story without it. Besides, no matter how realistic this dream was, it was still a dream. The real pendant was still in his pocket back with his sleeping body.

The kid had his hand out, so Cloud took a reluctant step forward and lifted his arm. Yet just before the necklace was within grabbing distance, he stopped. That strange part of him that he didn't understand and which usually was filling him with weird emotions was acting up again, and this time it was telling him not to let go of that pendant until he had gotten one more piece of information.

"Your name," he heard himself saying. "If I give this to you, I want something in return." The kid's eyes flashed dangerously, but Cloud met that gaze, unafraid. More clearly and with more strength, he insisted, "Tell me your name."

Tension sparked in the air between them as they stared each other down, yet it wasn't long before the boy relented. He looked down briefly, inhaled once, then snapped his gaze back up as he declared, "Squall. My name is Squall Leonhart."

His hand shot out to grab the pendant, and Cloud let it go.

Immediately, the dream dissolved. Moments later, Cloud was sitting up in his recliner, clutching his head with one hand and trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts and memories. It took him a while, but eventually he leaned back in the chair with a large sigh and stared up at the ceiling. Of all the dreams he had had so far, that one had been the weirdest. The wasteland, the kid, it had all been so bizarre, and it had ended the moment he gave up the necklace, just like that confusing part within him had known it would. Only half-conscious of the fact he was doing it, Cloud slipped his hand into his pocket to retrieve the piece of jewelry in question.

Two minutes later, he had laid everything in his pockets out on the coffee table, taken the cushions off of the recliner to check underneath them, and was crawling around on the floor, looking beneath things with a flashlight. The pendant and chain were nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

Aerith woke him early Saturday morning with a phone call.

"Cloud," she greeted happily, "he's eating!"

"Huh?" he responded, still half asleep.

"The boy you found. He's eating now. We've been feeding him through the IV, but every day Vicky tries to get him to eat off of a spoon as well. Up until this morning, she'd always failed, but today he opened his mouth for her and swallowed what she gave him!" When Cloud failed to respond, his brain still trying to put her words in the right order so he could process them, she took his silence as disappointment and added, "I know it doesn't sound all that exciting, but it's progress, right?"

"Right," he managed, finally waking up enough to function socially. "Yeah, that's great news. Thanks, Aerith."

"You're welcome," she replied with an audible smile. "Oh, and one more thing: you're the one who put his necklace on him, right?"

Cloud's newly-restarted brain sputtered and died. "What?"

"His necklace. He was wearing it this morning when Vicky went to give him his sponge-bath. She thought he had done it himself, so she was all excited, but I told her that you must have put it on him yesterday and we just didn't notice. It was underneath the gown after all. So am I right?"

"Yeah," he said automatically, too stunned to register the lie.

"I thought so," she replied. "Eating is one thing, but the motor control he would have needed to put that on is quite a different thing altogether. All right then, if you come in before noon, I'll see you then. If not, have a good day, Cloud."

"Yeah," he said again, then slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle, Aerith knowing him well enough by then not to expect anything more in response. For a good minute and a half, he simply stared at the phone, his brain stalling and spinning in place. Then, he leapt up and ran for his computer.

One Google search for 'Squall Leonhart' and several newspaper articles later, and Cloud had to get up and take a walk around his house to clear his head. If it hadn't been only nine-something in the morning, he would have had a beer. Or maybe a vodka. Maybe even two.

Squall Leonhart was the name of one of five teenagers who had all disappeared without a trace over the course of a single summer. Police had been completely baffled until they had found the body of a sixth teenager and managed to track the deed back to a woman by the name of Edea Kramer. She had been a much beloved kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school, and no one in the community had been able to believe that she was the one responsible. Yet the evidence had been damning, and she had been arrested. Kramer had died in prison before being brought to trial.

Some of the articles Cloud had read had included photographs of the people involved. Kramer's photo showed a lovely woman in her late thirties, slender with long black hair that reached past her waist. As for the photograph of Squall Leonhart, there was no mistaking that face or those stormy eyes. The boy who had disappeared was undoubtedly the same one who had been in Cloud's basement and was now in the hospital recovering. In spite of the fact that he had apparently found the body of a presumed murder victim, Cloud didn't even consider calling the police with what he had found for one simple reason:

All of this had happened in 1962.

"Holy shit," Cloud muttered to himself as he broke down and got that beer. "Holy freaking shit."

He honestly had no clue what to do next. He had wanted a name so he could contact the kid's family, but now that he had that information, he didn't know what the hell to do with it. A few of the articles had mentioned Squall's parents and a sister, but after nearly fifty years, those parents were probably dead and the sister pushing seventy. Even if he found her and she agreed to see him, what would he say? I found your long-lost brother in my basement, and oh, by the way, he hasn't aged a day since he disappeared? Not exactly the nicest thing to spring on an elderly heart. Especially since the kid was still a vegetable.

That, he supposed was what he should work on. He had grown rather fond of the kid in the past week, even without that weird part of him insisting he visit him as much as possible, and he knew he wouldn't be satisfied just sitting by and watching other people help him. He had to feel like he was at least trying to do something himself. In his dream, Squall had said that he was trapped. Maybe if he found a way to free the Squall in his dream from that wasteland, the Squall in the real world would recover. Conversely, getting real-Squall to wake up might release dream-Squall in the process. It was just a guess, but it seemed logical, or as logical as one could get when one was dealing with magic circles, dreams, apparent hiccups in time, and disappearing jewelry.

Keeping a firm grip on his beer, Cloud went back to his research. He spent the rest of the morning following links and reading articles, but he didn't find much else that was helpful or interesting. After Kramer had died, the case had fallen apart, and the media had moved on to other, more timely things as they were prone to do. The only coverage the incident had gotten since that summer was in the mid-80s when a reporter by the name of Michael Innis had written a true-crime novel about it. The book had gotten rather bland reviews, due in part at least to the total lack of information on the case. Cloud couldn't find any articles after that time period that even mentioned the incident. It seemed the whole world had decided to forget it ever happened.

Sometime around noon, Cloud gave up and abandoned his computer to go get cleaned up and dressed. When he got out of the shower, he discovered that Tifa had texted him, complaining that she hadn't seen him all week and inviting him to spend time with her that afternoon. He sent her back an apology and asked if she would be free tomorrow since he already had plans for the rest of the day. She agreed to the change and added a few joking threats about what would happen if he failed to show. Normally, he would have forgone any more conversation, but he did feel a bit bad about the way he had brushed her off recently, so he sent her back a quick acknowledgement before turning his phone all the way off.

He drove to the hospital at a slower pace than normal. Even though it was solidly past noon by then, he didn't want to run the risk of running into Aerith on her way out. The woman was damn perceptive, which made her an excellent nurse, but in Cloud's case, that perception frequently worked against him. Today, he knew he was still shaken up by what had happened and all that he had learned from it, and the last thing he wanted was for his dear friend to corner him and make him talk to her about it. The only person he wanted to see, the only one he wanted to talk to, was Squall.

The kid was in his normal chair by the window again. Vicky and Aerith both preferred him to get out of bed, so they usually had him in either that chair or another one closer to the door. Neither of the women he had become used to were on duty that afternoon, however, a fact that made Cloud quite happy. Vicky wasn't nearly as perceptive as Aerith, but the woman talked constantly and she seemed to have made Squall her own personal project. Every time Cloud came to visit when she was there, he left with a headache.

The nurse on duty this particular afternoon was quiet and didn't see much reason to stay in a room with a catatonic patient when she had others to attend to as well. She politely ascertained that Cloud was fine and didn't need anything, then left them alone. As soon as she had gone, Cloud fetched his usual chair and sat down. Normally, he would have taken some time to just look at that silent profile while he collected his thoughts and figured out what he wanted to say, but today, he wasted no time in addressing his companion.

"Hey there."

Those eyes turned to look at him as always, but this time he had to fight the urge to grit his teeth. Last night in his dream, those very same eyes had been so expressive and so alive. The emotions they had held had been negative ones - fear, distrust, anger - yet that was so much more preferable to the total nothingness that he currently saw. It almost hurt to look at those eyes now, seeing how empty they were, knowing how full they could be.

"Squall," he murmured, watching the boy's face carefully. "That's your name, isn't it? Squall Leonhart."

He didn't know what he had expected to see, but whatever it was, he didn't see it. The face in front of him remained completely blank, not even a glimmer of recognition in those empty eyes. Cloud sighed and reached out to smooth the kid's bangs back like he sometimes did. This time, though, instead of pulling his hand away when he had finished, he let it rest gently on the top of Squall's head. His fingers sifted softly through brown strands as he brought their faces just a bit closer and gazed hard into those eyes.

"You're in there," he half-whispered. "I know you are. Somewhere. Wanting to get out. Thinking that you never will. Thinking that you're all alone." Not completely sure why he was doing it, Cloud slid his hand down to wrap around the back of Squall's head and pulled gently until their foreheads lightly touched. Closing his eyes, he breathed, "You're not."

It really was funny, he thought in the quiet moment that followed, just how much he wanted to help this poor kid. That subconscious pull in his chest was still there, but it could only account for part of what he felt right now. It wasn't like he couldn't fight that part of him if he really wanted to do so. What surprised him was how much he didn't want to, how much he was willing to accept if it meant getting closer to an answer. None of what had happened so far made the slightest bit of sense, yet Cloud didn't really care. He wasn't about to give up on the boy in front of him, not for anything, and that, if he were being truthful with himself, surprised him and even frightened him, just a little.

Sighing, Cloud leaned back slowly and let his hand fall from the back of Squall's head. "You're not alone," he declared, knowing in his heart that he meant every word. "I'm with you, and I'm going to stay with you until this is all over. I'm going to get you out of there, Squall. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to do it, but I'm not going to give up." He lifted his eyes to meet the other's unfocused gaze, and a small but determined smile curved his lips. "I'll get you out of there," he vowed. "I promise."

Something brushed against Cloud's hand, making him jump slightly. He looked down at the arm of Squall's chair, where he had unknowingly rested his hand, to find that Squall's hand had moved and was now slowly curling its fingers around his. Fascinated, Cloud watched until the fingers had tightened enough to be holding his hand in a solid, but not too tight grip. His chest inexplicably tightened, although this time he knew it had nothing to do with whatever strange thing he had hiding out inside him. This emotion was entirely his own. Smiling even more, he looked up, and even though only a blank face greeted him, he knew his words had been heard. For the rest of his visit, Cloud's hand remained securely wrapped in Squall's.

Just before he left, Cloud asked for permission to take the necklace again. He wasn't entirely certain he needed it to visit the wasteland in his dreams, but considering the vanishing act it had done the previous night, it seemed like a definite possibility. Just like before, Cloud's request caused Squall to slowly open his hand as a signal that he approved. Cloud watched the pale fingers move, then gently slid his hand from Squall's loose grip and reached up to remove the pendant from around his neck.

"Thank you," he said as he gathered the chain into one hand. "I'm sure your counterpart will be upset that I have it again, but I appreciate that you trust me with it." Smirking slightly, he added, "Too bad the other you doesn't trust me as much as you do. I'll work on him, though."

Squall's expression didn't change, but in his imagination, Cloud could just barely see him smirking back.

When he got home later that night, he felt like home-cooking rather than fast food, so he fixed himself a skillet-dinner-in-a-bag. As far as Cloud was concerned, if it didn't involve the microwave, it was a home-cooked meal, Tifa's opinions be damned. Meals in bags and boxes were a bachelor's best friend, and it wasn't his fault if the women in his life didn't understand that. Besides, a skillet meal like this one always made leftovers, which were a bachelor's second best friend.

Happily munching away on his food, Cloud decided to sit down at his computer and check the black magic site he had found to see if anyone had replied to his post about the symbol in his basement. After logging in and finding the right page, he discovered that several people actually had. Most of the posts were completely useless, things along the lines of "Nope, never seen that one before. Good luck!", but one anonymous post near the bottom immediately caught his attention.

' **I need to speak to you regarding this symbol. I recognize it but would prefer to divulge information privately. Please call me at your earliest convenience.** '

A phone number had been added to the unsigned message. Cloud didn't recognize the area code, but a quick online search placed it in northern New England. He stared at the ten numbers for a good solid minute, idly tapping his teeth with the back of his fork, then rose from his chair to put his empty plate in the sink. Half an hour later, he was still debating with himself on whether or not to call. Contacting complete strangers from the internet who hadn't even given you their name wasn't high on anyone's 'Smart Things To Do' list, but the possibility of information, of answers, was extremely tempting. It took a great deal of self-convincing, but eventually Cloud decided to give it a try. Although, he thought to himself as he dialed the numbers, if the person on the other end asked him for his social security number, he was hanging up immediately.

A man answered the call on the second ring.

"Yes?"

"Are you the guy who says he knows just what the hell someone painted on my basement floor?" Cloud demanded, having decided to forego the normal pleasantries and just jump to the heart of the matter.

The guy on the other end either didn't surprise easily or had amazing recovery time. "Yes," he chuckled in a voice so deep it made Cloud shudder slightly, "I am. Call me Valentine. What should I call you? One name will suffice."

Cloud thought about giving an alias or even his username from the site before deciding just to use his real name. This Valentine person wouldn't have to do much to get his real name anyway since he hadn't thought to use a public phone or to try to block his number or anything. "Strife," he said in answer to the other's question. "You can call me Strife."

"Very well, Mr. Strife. Please wait a moment." There was a short silence as the phone was put down; then, Cloud heard it picked up again and the rustling of papers. Valentine's voice was business-like as he said, "The magic circle on your floor, Mr. Strife, is an extremely complicated and intricate one. While I can't tell exactly what it does from these photos, I do recognize the base symbols. The circle was made to manipulate time in some way."

Cloud swallowed hard. "Manipulate time?" he echoed.

"Yes," Valentine replied, as if it were a completely commonplace thing. "A spell to either shorten or elongate time. It's a skill that many practitioners of magic would love to master, and many dedicate their entire lives to it. As far as I know, however, no one has succeeded."

Breathing shallowly through his nose, Cloud shut his eyes and tried to remain calm. It was strange how hearing someone else talk about the impossible things he had already accepted suddenly made them so much more powerful. When he was the only one considering these things, there was still a part of him that could pretend all of this was some kind of trick or bad joke, but now that there was a stranger making the same conclusions he had, now it was _real_.

"It really is a very complicated design," Valentine was saying. "Whoever created it must have been very powerful."

"Powerful," Cloud echoed balefully. "So you're saying that the woman who previously owned my house was a witch, and not just a witch, but a powerful one?"

"Most of us don't like to be called witches, but yes, that is essentially correct. There's no need to be concerned, Mr. Strife," he added, finally picking up on how upset Cloud was getting by this news. "The spell is not active. You can remove the circle with ordinary soap and water. It will not harm you or anyone in your house."

Cloud suppressed a groan and dropped his head into one hand. The spell wasn't active now, but it had been. Just how much damage had he done by interfering and forcibly breaking it? Was Squall's catatonia his fault? The thought made him feel sick.

"Of course," Valentine continued, half to himself, "as a fellow practitioner, I would love to be able to study this in more detail. And the caster's notes."

"There weren't any notes," Cloud responded automatically, still drowning in his sudden guilt.

Valentine made a little dismissive noise in his throat. "They might not be obvious," he argued, "but they're there. We never attempt spells this dangerous without extremely detailed notes. Magic is a very dangerous thing."

Cloud sighed and, even though the other man couldn't see him, leaned forward in his chair. "Mr. Valentine," he insisted evenly, "there were no notes. I checked that basement completely. She must have taken them with her. Either that or destroyed them."

"It's possible," Valentine conceded. "It's also possible that they've simply been spelled to hide them from others. Illusion spells are very simple and don't require circles to activate. They are very useful to hide things since only someone who knows that the object is there can access it normally."

_Like the door_ , Cloud realized with a cold shiver. Memories of that night flooded into him as he asked, "Would someone else be able to break a spell like that?"

"An illusion spell? Quite easily. Like I said, they're quite simple and the counterspell for them is also extremely trivial. Even a novice would have only minimal trouble. The issue becomes locating the original spell so as to direct the counterspell. That requires some degree of experience."

Cloud's brow furrowed as he processed this information. "But what about someone who doesn't know magic?" he eventually asked. "Like me, for example. How hard would it be for me to break the spell?"

"You're thinking of trying to find the notes?" Valentine incorrectly guessed. When Cloud made a non-committal noise, he continued, "I'm afraid that, as simple as it is, someone who is not a magic user would have zero success in breaking an illusion spell. As I said, the only way to break the spell without using magic is to know exactly where the object is. Once direct contact is made, the spell will disintegrate on its own, but you cannot simply grope about and hope you'll touch something. You have to know exactly where to place your hand in order to come into contact with the hidden object."

Which, thanks to the dreams, he had. "What about a spell like the one on my floor?" he asked, half-dreading the answer. "Could someone break that? Or reverse its effects?"

Valentine hesitated for a moment, and Cloud heard the sound of papers rustling again. "I can't tell you based on just these photographs," the other man eventually said. "I would need to study the circle in more detail and the notes as well."

A darkly-amused huff burst from Cloud's lips at that. "So, since I can't get the notes myself, you're saying the easiest way to figure this out would be for you to come to my house?"

Valentine's answering chuckle was strangely comforting. "Easiest?" he echoed. "Yes. It would be. However, it would also be incredibly stupid. For both of us. I know nothing about you other than the fact that you have an extremely interesting magic circle in your basement -"

"And I know nothing about you," Cloud continued, "other than the fact that you practice magic in a day and age where magic is considered to be nothing more than children's fiction."

"Exactly. For me to come to your house and for you to allow me entrance would be equivalent to a game of Russian roulette. I gave you my phone number because I was very eager to speak to you and because I am certain I can defend myself within my own territory. However, I am unwilling to put myself at any more risk regardless of how tempting the reward may be. And considering that the spell is not active, I see no reason for you to be concerned with it any longer. As I said before, you can dispose of it without worry."

Cloud drew in a slow breath and let it out again. Valentine was right; doing this was like gambling with his own life. But if there truly was magic involved - something Cloud never would have considered before seeing that pillar and fighting with that candle - he was going to need help. If Squall's catatonic state was because of the spell or because of the fact that Cloud broke it by force, he would need someone who understood all of this to help save him. Valentine seemed knowledgeable, was obviously interested, and was probably the only person he could think of who wouldn't dismiss his story as complete fiction. As much as he didn't like the thought of inviting a stranger who practiced magic into his house, he knew he wouldn't have a better opportunity than the one he had right now. Truly, when it came down to it, there wasn't that much to think about.

"Mr. Valentine," he began in calm tones, "I understand what you're saying, and my rational side certainly agrees with you. What would you say, though, if I told you that I found that circle in a secret part of my basement, hidden by an illusion spell which I was able to break thanks to a series of dreams showing me exactly where it was? And what would you say if I said that when I first found that circle, all of the candles were lit and there was a large pillar of blue light in the center, inside of which was a young man who went missing without a trace in 1962? And that I was able to break that spell myself in order to get him out, albeit with difficulty? If I were to tell you all that, Mr. Valentine, what would you say?"

There was silence for a very long time, broken only by the sound of Cloud's breathing as it bounced off of the receiver and back to his own ears. Then, Valentine cleared his throat very gently and replied, "If you were to tell me that, Mr. Strife, I would say that I need to book a flight immediately."

More relieved than he wanted to admit, Cloud smiled to himself and nodded. "Do you have a pen and paper available? I'll give you my address."

After hanging up with Valentine, whose first name he learned was Vincent, Cloud retired to his bedroom and flopped bodily onto his bed, still dressed. The impact jarred his body and sent an unexpected pain through his right hip. Wincing slightly, Cloud dug into his pocket and pulled out Squall's necklace, the cross from which had jabbed him when he fell.

"Et tu, Leonhart?" he joked, bringing the pendant up to eye-level so he could gaze at it. The lion head rotated back and forth with the movement, catching the light as it did so and giving Cloud the impression that the beast was laughing. Smirking at himself and his imagination, he flicked the side of the pendant with a finger, sending it spinning.

When Valentine got there, Cloud would have to have him look at the necklace as well, as it obviously had some kind of spell on it also. It was strange, then, how attached dream-Squall seemed to be to it. Perhaps it had been his originally, rather than something the witch had forced him to wear. If so, that just raised more questions as to where Squall had gotten it or from whom. If it had special memories attached to it, Cloud wanted to know about them, just as he wanted to know as much as he could learn about its mysterious owner.

Sighing, Cloud rested the necklace on his chest, then sat up briefly so he could place it around his own neck before lying back down again. He wanted to talk to Squall again, badly. Even if the kid did little more than glare at him, he wanted to talk to him again and try to get him to trust him a little bit more. Unfortunately, Cloud knew that it was going to take him ages to fall asleep tonight. Just the fact that he wanted to go to sleep was going to keep him awake for hours.

Deciding to at least make some use out of his time, Cloud hauled himself off of the bed and wandered over to his computer to do more research. This time he went to Amazon to see if he could find the true crime novel that had been written about the disappearances. After finding it and reading a few excerpts, he dismissed it again. The thing was an overdramatized piece of rubbish with far too much emphasis on setting and physical description and not enough on actual facts. On a whim, he looked up Michael Innis to see if the man even had a career after publishing such crap and was surprised to find that he did. The guy had a blog as well as presences on Facebook and Twitter, and from what Cloud could see, he had a decent following. It only took a few articles to see why; the man's writing had substantially improved over the last twenty years.

In the spirit of getting as much information as possible, Cloud used the address on one of the man's many webpages and sent Innis a quick email. Posing as a journalism student doing a paper, he professed an interest in the old case and asked if Innis had used any special sources or had any suggestions on how he could best conduct his own research. While he didn't hold out much hope that he would get an answer, seeing as how the other man probably got hundreds of email a day, Cloud figured that it couldn't hurt to try.

Once the email was sent, Cloud spent some time answering his own mail - Yuffie was once again trying to convince him to play WoW with her - and then goofed off for a while, checking sports scores and watching videos until he started to feel tired. He tried not to think about Squall as he changed into his sleeping clothes and brushed his teeth. He tried not to think of barren, cracked earth and heavy clouds and what he would say to that angry, proud face once he saw it again. He really did try. But with the way the lion's head rested against his bare chest, cool and comfortable, bringing back memories of those stormy eyes and the way they tried to pierce his heart with their gaze, he didn't have all that much success.

"I'm going to be up until three in the morning," he complained to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The other Cloud frowned right back at him, seeming to agree. For a long moment, he stayed there, staring at himself in a kind of quiet resignation. Then, sighing, he turned off the light and went to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The wasteland was exactly the same, but this time, Cloud didn't bother walking through it. Instead, he lifted his hands to cup them around his mouth and called, "Squall! Where are you?"

"You again?"

Just like before, the voice came from behind him, although this time Cloud had been expecting it. He turned to find Squall on his feet, arms crossed over his chest and eyes glaring at him in disapproval. Those eyes quickly filled with shock, however, and then anger as they took in the sight of Cloud's almost bare chest. Again, one hand went to Squall's neck, searching for the chain that wasn't there.

"How did - ?" he began, then positively snarled as he dropped his hands to his side, fists clenched, and demanded, " _Give that back!"_

"No," Cloud replied, wary of the pure rage in the other's face. He found himself automatically taking a defensive stance of his own as he continued, "Not yet. I will give it back, but not until I'm done talking to you."

"Talking to me?" Squall echoed, clearly furious. "What part of talking to me means you have to steal my property in order to do it?"

"Because I think it's what lets me come here," Cloud answered quickly, "and without it, I'll go back to where I came from. Besides," he added more calmly as understanding began to soften that young face, "I didn't steal it. You gave it to me."

Squall's eyes, which had widened slightly, narrowed to slits once more as all his distrust came crashing back. "What are you talking about?" he hissed dangerously.

Taking a short breath in through his nose, Cloud paused and considered. He knew he was going to have to do this, but he wasn't entirely sure how he should go about it. There was just so much that Squall was going to have to digest. Even more was the amount of information Cloud wanted to pull _from_ the young man before him, and while he knew he couldn't possibly do all of it in one go, he definitely wanted to get as much as he could. Getting information from Squall was going to be impossible until the teenager trusted him, however, so Cloud supposed he should start small, simple, and above all honest.

Mentally prepping himself for the explosion that could happen at any time, he repeated, "You gave it to me. The other you. The you back in the real world." Squall blinked in surprise, but before he could say anything in response, Cloud continued, "The whole time you've been in here, you've also been out there but only the physical part. I guess, to put it another way, your body is still in the real world, but your mind is trapped in here, wherever here is. The other you isn't completely out of it, though. You look at me when I talk to you, and you opened your hand enough to give me this." He lifted one hand and gently touched the pendant around his neck. "I did ask permission before I took it, you know," he finished, smiling slightly. "Both times."

Squall's face had gone blank and expressionless, rather like his catatonic counterpart, but Cloud could see flashes in his eyes that proved he was thinking over this information. After a few silent moments, those gray eyes lifted to meet Cloud's gaze, and he asked the question that the older man had been dreading. "What reason do I have to believe you?"

There were many things that Cloud could have said, but they all sounded like excuses or poor attempts to defend himself. Only one answer seemed right to Cloud: the completely honest one. "None really. But," he added, "I see no reason why you shouldn't believe me either. It's not like I would gain anything by lying to you."

Squall considered this for a long moment before turning his head away and breaking the connection they had formed. "Whatever," he muttered to himself, sending an unexplained ripple of amusement through Cloud's body. "So why are you here?"

The other's more relaxed body language made Cloud's smile broaden. "I told you," he answered. "I want to talk to you."

"But why?" Squall insisted, bringing his gaze back to focus on Cloud once more. "What could you possibly want to talk to _me_ about? What could I say that would interest you?"

Cloud had to fight the urge to laugh at that. What could Squall possibly say that _wouldn't_ interest him? Even putting aside his vow to rescue the kid from this place, he wanted to know everything there was to know about this displaced young man. Saying that, however, would lead to a conversation that he didn't want to have with Squall yet, especially since he wasn't entirely certain he was ready to have it with _himself._ "I want to know all the details up to when you were first trapped in here," he said instead. "Because if I know how you got in here, maybe it'll help me figure out how to get you out."

At this revelation, a flurry of emotions flickered over Squall's face, so quickly that if Cloud had not been staring right at him, he would have missed them. They began with surprise and ended with resignation, but it was the brief glimpse of desperate, child-like hope lost somewhere in the mix that grabbed onto Cloud's heart and twisted it mercilessly. If he hadn't already been resolved to do everything he could, that split second of longing would have convinced him immediately.

By the time Squall spoke again, however, that powerful emotion had died and was long buried. "There's no point," he declared in tones so cold that his words seemed to freeze mid-air. "Only she can get me out. She said so. Only she can break the spell."

"I broke part of it," Cloud informed him, and a surge of confidence shot through him at the admission. "It took some doing, but I got your physical body out of the circle and to the hospital. I'm still figuring things out, but with some more information and a bit of time, I bet I can break the rest of it and get you out of here completely."

Cloud would have thought that this information would have improved Squall's mood, but it didn't seem to make even the slightest impression. He just repeated, "There's no point," and turned away.

Frustration reared, violent and ugly, as Cloud snapped, "You don't know that. And it's not like you have anything better to do, unless this place is more interesting than it looks. What, you're so busy that you can't be bothered to talk to me for a bit?" This caught Squall's attention, for he froze, back stiffening. Cloud's anger waned at the sight, his voice calming as he finished, "Even if it is a waste of time, it's still something to do. This place looks damn boring if you ask me."

"Whatever," Squall said again, although he had turned back slightly and Cloud could see the life returning to that dead expression. "If you want to beat your head against a brick wall, I guess that's your business."

"Exactly," Cloud replied, crossing his arms over his chest with a triumphant smirk. "So talk, starting with how you got in here. You said before that you gave her a ride to her house. You knew her then? Who was she exactly?"

"Mrs. Kramer," Squall replied immediately. A glazed look suddenly came over his eyes as he continued, "She was my teacher ... my kindergarten teacher. We all loved her ... kept in contact with her even as we grew up ... even ... ugh ..." A spasm of pain crossed Squall's face, and he lifted one hand to rub at his temple, eyes shut tightly.

"Squall?" Cloud asked, concerned. "You okay?"

"Hard to remember," the other answered. "Kind of hurts."

Cloud took a few steps forward, torn between wanting the information and wanting to ease Squall's pain. "Do you think you can work through it?" he asked hesitantly. "Because I ... I mean ..."

"Yeah," Squall interrupted, lowering his hand. "It's not a problem." He opened his eyes again, although they remained unfocused as he continued to sort through his memories. "I found her walking on the side of the road. Just walking, even though it was already past ten. I pulled over and asked her if she was okay and if she needed anything, and she said she was fine but if I could give her a ride home, she'd appreciate it. She wasn't acting quite like herself, and I should have realized it then, but I was ..." He faltered, expression pinching in pain once more. "I was distracted ... and ... and upset ... because ... because ... _ah!"_

"Squall!" Cloud cried as the young man staggered. He closed the remaining distance between them in seconds and grabbed onto those thin shoulders to steady him.

"Don't touch me," Squall gasped as he fought the pain in his head. Another gasp ripped through him, his eyes flying open as his head lifted. For one frozen heartbeat, Cloud stared down into wide, gray eyes, swimming in shock and confusion; then Squall was struggling in his grip, trying to get free. "Let me go," he demanded weakly.

"If I let you go, you're gonna fall over," Cloud told him, frowning in worry. "I'll make you a deal. You sit down, and I'll let go."

Squall growled a bit but began to lower himself to the ground all the same. Cloud guided him until he was seated, and then sat down beside him, removing his hands as promised. "If some memories hurt more than others," he advised, "then just forget about those for now. Focus on what's easiest to remember, and we'll worry about the other stuff later."

"You don't need to treat me like I'm a child," Squall grumbled, but Cloud noticed the way he relaxed slightly. "So I took her to her house," he continued, letting his eyes fall closed, "and she invited me in for a cup of tea. Normally, I would have declined, but that night I was ... upset ... and ... and I knew I was already in trouble with my dad for ... for taking the car ... in the first place ..."

His hands were on his temples again, forehead creased and eyelids wrinkled in pain. Purely on instinct, Cloud reached out and smoothed Squall's bangs out of his eyes, just as he had done many times in the hospital. "It's okay," he assured him. "You don't need to remember why you were out. Just what happened in that house."

"Don't touch me," Squall said again, but even as he said it, he reached up with one hand to snag Cloud's and bring it to lie flat against the side of his face. Surprised and pleased, Cloud just smirked and bit his tongue.

"So, you went in for a cup of tea?" he prodded lightly after a moment.

"Yeah. At her kitchen table. But the tea tasted a little strange. I didn't want to say anything because it was Mrs. Kramer, but I noticed it was odd. Then, after a few minutes, I started feeling drowsy and a little sick, and before I knew it, I had passed out."

"She drugged you with the tea," Cloud murmured, examining the other's face. Squall was clearly still in pain, but the change in subject had seemed to lessen it. "What happened next?"

"I woke up on the floor in the basement. Mrs. Kramer was there, sitting at a desk and studying something in a notebook as well as from a bunch of loose papers. I tried to get up or to say something, but I couldn't move. All I could do was lie there and watch her as she ignored me. Eventually, she got up and started talking, but it all sounded like madness to me. She went on about spells and time and how I would be the last component of her life's work. She was nothing like the woman I knew; I thought she had gone insane."

Cloud sighed lightly to himself. So far, everything was lining up with what the police had concluded in the sixties and what he himself had found out since then: Kramer had kidnapped the victims and used them in a spell to manipulate time. "What about the others?" he asked.

"Others?" Squall echoed, his eyes flickering open.

"Four kids went missing before you did," Cloud elaborated, "and you just said she called you the last component. Did she mention what happened to the other four?"

"She ... she ... unnhh ..."

"Forget it, forget it," Cloud said quickly as Squall's body began to shake with an obviously stronger pain. "It doesn't matter right now. Just finish up with what happened to you."

Squall exhaled a slow breath and nodded gently, his hand still pressing Cloud's to his head like it was a cold pack given to soothe a headache. "She lifted me up like I weighed nothing and took me through a door into a different part of the basement. There was some strange design drawn on the floor, and she put me down in the middle of it. She placed some candles around me and lit them, and then she started talking again, except this time it was in a completely different language and sounded like some sort of chant. I must have blacked out again because the next thing I remember ..." He lifted his head and dropped Cloud's hand as he let his eyes roam over the barren earth in front of them. "... I was here."

"At which point, you started wandering, looking for a way out, but never found it," Cloud added.

"Yeah."

Silence fell over them, and they sat together for several minutes, each lost to his own thoughts. Cloud was honestly surprised that Squall had continued to talk even though the act of remembering was painful, but he was quite glad that he had. The information didn't tell him much that he hadn't already guessed, but now it was confirmed. It did bother him, though, that nothing yet was known about the other four kids who had disappeared or the sixth who had apparently not been part of Kramer's plans at all.

"Has anyone else ever shown up here?" he eventually asked. "Or am I the only one?"

"You're the only one," Squall answered. "I don't know how long I've been here, but the whole time I've been alone." His voice was dead again, and when Cloud stole a sidelong look at his face, his expression had once again blanked itself out.

His response came with barely a second thought. "Well, you're not alone now."

Turbulent gray eyes turned to look at him, wide with surprise, but Cloud didn't let himself hold their gaze for very long for fear of drowning in them. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was going on inside himself with all the tightness and the warm feelings, but right now was really not the time for that. So, instead of tempting fate by meeting Squall's eyes, he rose up on his knees and shifted a bit to be in front of the teenager, bringing his hands up to his neck.

"That's enough for one night," he commented, forcing his tone to be light and calm as he lifted the necklace up over his head. "Next time I come, I'm sure I'll have a ton more questions for you, but I'll let you be for now." He spread the chain open with his hands and continued, "Someone's coming to help me tomorrow, so we'll work on this a bit and see how far we can get. Maybe we can figure out a way for you to remember things without it hurting."

"Who are you?" Squall breathed as Cloud brought the necklace up and over slightly messy brown locks. "Why do you feel so familiar?"

The question surprised Cloud a little, but it only took him a moment to recover. "Maybe because I come to visit you in the hospital every day," he answered, smiling lightly. "As for who I am, I'm no one special. Just the one who bought Kramer's house and found you in the basement, and ..." he trailed off, finally allowing himself to look up and meet the other's gaze. As expected, those stormy eyes pulled strongly on Cloud's heart, but he was more than ready for them. Letting his smile deepen, he declared, "I'm the one who's going to rescue you from this god-awful place."

"Cloud ..."

"See you tomorrow, kid," he interrupted the whisper of his name, removing one hand from the chain to sweep his fingers once more across that brow and push Squall's bangs aside. "Take care of yourself until then."

And with a final smile, he let the other hand go.

He woke up in his own bed where, after a quick check to make sure that the necklace was gone, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

The next morning, he got up early and got himself dressed and out of the house as quickly as he could. He had a lunch date with Tifa, and Valentine was coming later that afternoon, so he knew if he wanted to get to the hospital at all today, it would have to be in the morning. And while it was true that he didn't have to visit Squall every single day, there was no reason why he shouldn't. At the very least, he wanted to be in possession of the pendant so that Valentine could look at it. The fact that he genuinely liked visiting with Squall was just a secondary bonus.

_Keep telling yourself that, Strife,_ he thought as he zoomed along on his bike. _You just keep on telling yourself that._

He still didn't really _want_ to think about the feelings he was starting to have with more frequency, but it probably was time for him to just man up and admit it. He was going all Florence Nightingale Syndrome on Squall, and as much as he just wanted to throttle himself for it, doing so wouldn't make it any less of a reality. Interestingly enough, the fact that he was attracted to another male didn't bother him nearly as much as it might someone else; he had, after all, known Tifa and her boobs and Aerith and her hips for years and never considered sleeping with either of them. No, it was the fact that it was _this_ male that he wanted that made him want to steer the bike into a telephone pole and just get it over with. He just had to go for the one who looked eighteen but was really in his sixties. The one who was catatonic and caught up in some old magical murder mystery thing that sounded like it should be the plot of some summer blockbuster. The one he was supposed to be freaking taking care of, not falling for like some stupid nurse with a wounded GI.

Tifa had been telling him for years that he could be a real idiot sometimes. Guess she had been right.

Cloud was still mentally beating on himself when he walked into Squall's hospital room to find Aerith talking to a stranger. The man looked to be in his thirties and had dirty-blond hair and a smiling, open face, but that was all Cloud had time to process before Aerith saw him and all but tackled him to the ground.

"Cloud!" she cried, wrapping her arms about him in her excitement and squeezing. "We've had more progress!"

"Really?" he replied, trying not to wince. "That's great. What happened this time?"

To his surprise, Aerith hesitated and actually blushed a bit as she pulled away. "Well," she said slowly, "you probably don't want to know all the details, but suffice to say, he's no longer on a catheter."

Cloud couldn't hold back his grimace. She was right; he didn't want to know the details. "He was on a catheter?" he asked, shifting his gaze to the figure in the chair by the window and feeling a distinct wave of sympathy wash through him. "I hadn't noticed. I mean, it makes sense considering, but ..."

"Well," his nurse friend said briskly, "Vicky and I always try to help our patients maintain as much of their dignity as possible, so we always make sure to make the more unpleasant parts of their stay as unobtrusive as we can."

"Which is one of the many reasons why you're the best," Cloud complimented her with a grin. He took a moment to enjoy the way she brightened with a happy flush, then confirmed, "So he's off it now, and that's the progress you wanted to tell me about?"

"That's right," she replied, "and, oh Cloud, it's just so amazing! He had absolutely no progress for a week, and then to have these two breakthroughs so close to each other. It's like a miracle!" The beginnings of tears shimmered in her eyes and she placed one hand over her mouth as she glanced back at her patient.

Ignoring his usual tendency to avoid affectionate contact, Cloud gathered her up into his arms and hugged her lightly. "I'm sure it's all thanks to you," he said. He knew it wasn't true, but that didn't mean he didn't deeply appreciate everything she had done. Lie though it was, it seemed appropriate for both the situation and his feelings.

"Oh, Cloud," she said again and hid her face in his chest as she fought off the need to cry.

A not-so-gentle throat-clearing caught both of their attentions, and Cloud shifted his gaze to regard the forgotten stranger. He was grinning at the pair of them, clearly thinking they were having some intimate couple moment and taking enjoyment from the fact that he was witnessing it. "'Scuse me, you two," he said, "I hate to interrupt, but I do have duties I need to get to."

"Oh, of course," Aerith replied, pulling away from Cloud and hastily wiping her eyes. Turning to the man to introduce him, she said, "Cloud, this is Officer Zuckerman. He's offered to help me find out our young John Doe's identity as well as work out other legal matters that we may need to deal with. Officer, this is my friend Cloud Strife."

"The one who found the kid, right?" Zuckerman questioned as he held out his hand.

"That's right," Cloud answered, taking the man's hand in his own and giving it a quick shake.

"Most people would have just dropped him off at the hospital and forgotten about him," the policeman commented with a hint of question behind his words. "Right nice of you to keep visiting him like this." His eyes roamed over Cloud's expression although for the moment they were more friendly than searching. Cloud bore the scrutiny easily. "'Course," Zuckerman continued, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his eyes slide to Squall, "I can't exactly talk when I'm doing the same thing. Most everybody at the station already gave up on him, but for some reason I can't. Something about that face that makes me want to help him." The man's brow furrowed a bit in apparent confusion. "Familiar, too. I feel like I should know who he is."

Cloud swallowed and kept his face as blank as he could. It was entirely possible that Zuckerman had seen Squall before if he had studied the old case in which the teenager had been involved. Certainly a policeman would have had more reason to do so than anyone else. The last thing Cloud wanted, however, was to get the authorities interested in this. They would undoubtedly sweep in and cart Squall off somewhere to be analyzed in the name of science. If that happened, Cloud's promise would go unfulfilled, and, more importantly, he would probably never see Squall again.

"Officer," Aerith's voice broke gently into both of the men's private thoughts, "you mentioned you have duties."

"Oh, right," Zuckerman grinned, shaking his head a bit. "And you wanted to talk to me about something before I left. But I told you to call me Frank, you know."

Aerith ended up leading the policeman a little to the side to talk, so Cloud let them be and crossed the room to take his normal place in front of Squall. As he expected, the pendant was back around the kid's neck.

"So," he commented, bringing gray eyes to meet his own, "I hear you got a bit of your dignity back. Good for you. A kid your age shouldn't be in diapers anyway."

As usual, Squall gave no reaction whatsoever, but Cloud had been with the other Squall enough to imagine those lips turning down in a disapproving glower. He could even hear the angry "Whatever" that the kid would assuredly snap at him in response. Thinking about it made him grin.

It was strange, though, that real-Squall had made two dramatic improvements in his recovery in as many days. Cloud couldn't help but wonder if his trips into the wasteland had been what had caused them. Both times he had gone in, he had woken up the next morning to find Aerith bubbling over with exciting news. Although it didn't make sense that just his presence in that world could create such change. It had to be because of his interactions with dream-Squall, because of how Squall reacted to him or because of the things they said.

Cloud sucked in a quick breath as understanding came to him. "Your memories," he murmured to the still face in front of him. "Is that why it hurts to call them up? Because breaking the bonds that hold them back translates to breaking bits of the spell over here?" Frowning, he rested his head in one hand and considered. If that were true, the best way to help real-Squall would be to get dream-Squall to remember as much as possible in spite of how much pain that would cause. Cloud had to admit he didn't particularly like that solution.

"All right, I'm off!" Zuckerman announced from the doorway, interrupting Cloud's thoughts. "Good to meet you, Strife. Aerith, I'll let you know if I have any problems."

"Thank you, Officer," Aerith smiled while Cloud just nodded.

"I told you. Frank, please."

"Frank," she obeyed, a mild blush forming over her cheeks and surprising Cloud. Zuckerman just grinned and, with a jaunty wave, disappeared through the door.

Once he had gone, Cloud lifted a single eyebrow at his friend to ask the obvious question in the air.

"Oh, shut up," she said to him in reply, although the redness that remained on her cheeks softened the blow of her words. "He's a good ten years older than I am."

"Doesn't mean anything," Cloud commented and fought the urge to grin at the way her blush only deepened. "What did he mean 'problems'? What did you ask him to do?"

Aerith's eyes skirted away from his, immediately raising his suspicion. Instead of answering his question right away, she asked, "Cloud, when you brought Johnny here, you offered to pay for his expenses, but did you actually sign any papers to that effect?"

"No," he answered, a frown beginning to form.

"Good," she murmured, turning back to him. "Because I don't think you realize just how expensive a stay like this is."

"Doesn't matter," he told her. This conversation was definitely starting to bother him. Was there some sort of problem with the kid's bill? "I'll pay it no matter how high it is."

"But how?" Aerith demanded of him with a little supplicating gesture. "You just bought a house. Surely that depleted your savings. Can you really afford to pay for this, too?"

Cloud glared at her and refused to respond. Even if she was right, it didn't matter. He'd take out a second mortgage on the damn house if he had to. Squall was going to get the treatment he needed for as long as he needed it.

Aerith must have recognized his expression, for she sighed at him resignedly. "Cloud," she scolded, "I'm not letting you go bankrupt just because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Vicky and I are both willing to contribute money, and even Frank said he'd give us a little if we needed it. And I bet Tifa and Barrett would help some if we asked. My point is that you don't have to deal with it alone. That's just half of what I need to talk to you about, though."

Cloud's frown didn't budge. He had to admit that the offer of financial help was nice, but he didn't appreciate the implication that he would have to be forced into accepting it, even if it was more or less true. "What's the second half?" he grumbled.

"Well," Aerith answered, lowering her eyes, "the second half is what we're going to do with him from here on. If he stays here in the hospital, his bills will just get more and more out of control, and what with this most recent improvement, he doesn't really _need_ to be in the hospital. He just needs someone to watch over him and take care of him. That's why the doctors have been talking about moving him to an assisted living center."

Something hard and cold settled roughly in Cloud's stomach. From Aerith's expression, he got the feeling that the center the doctors had been considering wasn't one close by. "When?" he asked.

"Within the week," she answered. "That is," she added softly as Cloud shut his eyes and dropped his head, "if no one comes forward before then to say that they will take him."

Her question was obvious, his answer even more so. He didn't even have to think about it. The words simply came from his mouth as if he had always been waiting to say them. Maybe, he would think later, he had.

"I'll take him."

Aerith smiled. "I thought you might," she said. "That's why I asked Frank to see if there would be any legal issues with you taking him and to help us work through them if there were. Before I get the paperwork, though, I need to make sure that you really want to do this. He's going to need a lot of care, and you'll have to figure out something to do with him while you're at work."

They were certainly good points and Aerith didn't even know about the fact that Cloud had less than pure intentions toward her patient, but Cloud's rational side wasn't paying much attention at the moment. He was too busy looking at that pale face and wondering why he hadn't thought to offer this on his own. He knew caring for real-Squall wouldn't be easy and it certainly wouldn't be convenient, but he also knew he would gladly put up with it and more if it meant bringing Squall home. Because that's where Squall belonged. With him. Home.

"I'm sure."

"Then I'll go get the forms you'll need to fill out. Be right back."

Caught up as he was in his own thoughts and in empty gray eyes, Cloud didn't notice her leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Lunch with Tifa was pleasant and a welcome slice of normality after the week he had endured. She truly was a wonderful friend, in spite of her persistent belief that they were perfect for each other and should marry as soon as possible. Cloud found himself honestly enjoying her conversation, and as the meal came to a close, he had to admit that he felt peaceful and content. The simple act of relaxing with someone special to him had organized his mind and rejuvenated his spirit.

Tifa had guided the conversation for the entire meal and Cloud had been more than willing to let her, so no one had mentioned Cloud's daily trips to the hospital or the boy he went to see. As they rose from their seats and headed toward the front of the restaurant, however, Tifa commented, "Aerith has been telling me about all the time and energy you've been devoting to that poor kid you found."

"Really?" he replied in as neutral a tone as he could manage. Tifa was a fantastic girl, but she could get extremely jealous when it came to Cloud. He wasn't always sure, either, what would set her off and what wouldn't.

"Yes, really," she said with a smile that made him substantially relax. "I think it's wonderful. Caring for someone else like that. It's not how you usually act, and I think it's a big improvement. I'm quite proud of you, Cloud."

He made a small noise of acknowledgement in response and allowed her to gently slip her arm through his as they exited into the parking lot. He knew her well enough to know that she meant each and every one of her words, but he also knew her well enough to hear the additional words that hid behind them. After all, showing such concern meant that he was allowing himself to become more sensitive, and that might mean that he was finally coming to his senses. Regardless, caring for another person would be good practice for when he eventually became a doting husband and father which, she had no doubt, he eventually would.

Of course, she had no idea that the tender feelings she wanted directed at herself were instead being directed towards the boy who had raised her hopes in such a way. Cloud suspected that she would be substantially less pleased if she knew. He also doubted she would appreciate the fact that Cloud was intending to bring Squall home to live with him, so he decided not to tell her. Better to avoid that fight for as long as possible.

After walking Tifa back to her car and saying goodbye, Cloud mounted his motorcycle and rode home to meet the cab he had ordered for that afternoon. Rarely did he regret buying his bike instead of a normal car, but this, unfortunately, was one of those times. It wouldn't exactly do to meet a complete stranger at the airport with only an extra helmet and an invitation to hop on the back. He could have asked Tifa or Barrett or any of his other friends to help him, but that would have created questions that Cloud didn't particularly want to answer. So he had made arrangements for a taxi, in spite of how much he hated the things.

On the drive over, Cloud felt his anticipation beginning to rise and did his best to keep it in check. After all, there was no guarantee that Valentine would be any help whatsoever. The man had been very convincing over the phone but he could be nothing but talk. Even if he was genuine, he could be too inexperienced or otherwise out of his league with this particular spell. The hope that had begun to grow in Cloud's chest could still all too easily be crushed. Yet, he couldn't stop it from forming, only hold onto it firmly so that it didn't get out of control.

Without realizing it, Cloud spent the majority of the trip with his hand lightly gripping the lion pendant that hung around his neck.

The Baggage Claim area at the airport was extremely crowded, so much so that Cloud wondered if he should have brought one of those giant white signs with Valentine's name on it. During their brief phone conversation, the other man had assured Cloud that he would be able to recognize him easily, even without any physical description. Cloud had been skeptical but had let it slide, yet now as he scanned the masses of people at all the carousels, he cursed himself for not getting more information. Even an age and a hair color would have been nice to let him narrow down the possibilities a bit. As it was, this was going to be hopeless.

The thought had barely finished crossing his mind when two businessmen in suits wheeled away their travel bags and revealed a third man who had previously been hidden from Cloud's sight. This man was tall, fairly thin, and decked out from head to toe in black. His black jeans were fairly casual, but he had paired them with a long-sleeved button-down shirt that looked like it was pure silk. The only bit of color on the man was, of all things, a red ribbon that he had used to secure his long black hair in a ponytail. He wore close to no expression on his face and completely ignored the looks he was getting, especially from the women all around him. At the sight of him, Cloud immediately relaxed, and a small smirk crept into his lips. He hadn't believed it, but Valentine had been right; there was no way Cloud wouldn't have known him, no matter how large the crowd.

Forcibly wiping the smirk from his face, he walked up to him and said, "Vincent Valentine, I presume?"

Valentine turned to face him and looked down from his greater height with deeply brown eyes. "Indeed," he replied with a slight smile that made some of the surrounding women whisper to each other. "You must be Cloud Strife. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Cloud took the hand that had been offered, then motioned with his head in the direction he had come. "Car's this way, if you're ready."

"Of course." Valentine lifted his single travel bag, and the pair of them walked out to the parking lot together, leaving their appreciative spectators behind.

During the short cab ride, Cloud decided that he liked Vincent Valentine. He knew from talking to him earlier that he was polite and knowledgeable, but Cloud's final decision hinged on the simple fact that the man said absolutely nothing the entire trip. Rather than make small talk about the flight or about their respective lives, Valentine sat there with his eyes closed and his hands steepled in front of him as if in meditation. He didn't even so much as look at Cloud the entire time. Cloud liked it. While others might have seen his silence as rude or unnerving, he saw it as an indication of a kindred spirit. Content, he shut his own eyes and enjoyed the quiet, feeling the last of his misgivings melt away.

When they arrived at the house, Cloud paid the driver and wordlessly led Valentine inside. The other man followed him into the kitchen where they both pulled out chairs and sat down at the table. Valentine folded his hands again, this time resting his chin on his thumbs with his fingers before his mouth, and gazed solidly at Cloud who gazed back without hesitation. Cloud fully expected him to take control of the situation, and, after a short pause, he was not disappointed.

"So," Valentine said in that deep voice of his, "here I am."

"Yes," Cloud replied.

"I know why I am here, but before I start investigating and satisfying my own personal curiosity, I would like to know why you wanted me here. What is it, Mr. Strife, that you want from me?"

It was a fair question, one to which Cloud clearly knew the answer. "The boy I told you about. The one from fifty years ago."

"The one who was the main component of the spell?"

"Yes. He's currently catatonic. His mind is trapped within some sort of deserted dream-land. I want you to help me break him out of it and bring him back to this world."

Valentine considered this for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then asked another question. "Do you want him returned to his proper time?"

Cloud's eyes widened and a sudden uneasy weight settled in his stomach. He had never even considered that possibility. "You can do that?" he asked in response.

The other man shrugged. "Possibly. I can't do it at the moment, but if I can figure out how this spell works, perhaps I can."

Swallowing, Cloud dropped his eyes and considered. If they sent Squall back to the sixties, he would be reunited with his family. He would be able to live a normal life. Conversely, if he stayed in this time, his life would be anything but normal. There were so many things he would need to learn, so many changes to which he would need to adjust. Even if he managed all of it, he still wouldn't be able to fit properly into this time. A birth certificate, SSN, and education records more than likely existed for him, but they were all useless now. Without the proper paper trail, he would have trouble finishing his education and getting a job. It would more than likely be a struggle for him for the rest of his life.

Cloud knew that, if he truly cared for Squall, he should be willing to do what was best for him even if that wasn't what Cloud wanted. 'If you love it, let it go,' or whatever the stupid saying was. Unfortunately, knowing the right thing to do and actually doing it were two very different things. The truth of the matter was that Cloud didn't want to let Squall go. The kid had blown into his life, sucked up all his free time, and turned his sexuality on its head. There was no way Cloud was going to let him get away after all that. Besides, if there was one thing he had learned from the movies, it was that messing with time was a bad idea.

"No," he finally answered, his tone strong. "I don't want him sent back. Just awake. And also," he added as the thought occurred to him, "if you can find out what happened to the other four kids who went missing at the same time. If they can be rescued as well. I'd appreciate that."

"Very well," Valentine replied, nodding slightly. He leaned down to the bag he had set beside him on the floor and unzipped a pocket to pull out a sleek-looking PDA. Once he had set it on the table and turned it on, he said, "Now, please tell me all you can about what has been going on in this house, beginning with your dreams or earlier if you think it's appropriate."

Cloud settled back in his chair and began to talk. He started with the first time he had entered the house, describing the feelings he had had and the almost primal need to own it. Then, he talked about the dreams, how they had begun on the night he had moved in and continued on without change for two weeks. Valentine took notes on his PDA and asked the occasional question, seeming particularly interested in the changed dream and the woman who had appeared. Cloud had to tell him, regretfully, that he had no idea what she had been cooking at the stove. He suggested that perhaps it had been the drug that had knocked Squall and presumably the others out, but he had no proof of that.

When Cloud moved on to how he had located the door that night, Valentine suggested they reenact the evening as accurately as possible. The other man followed him as Cloud retraced his steps, describing what he could remember as he located the door handle in what had at first been a solid wall, then descended into the basement and moved to the back with the circle. Cloud pointed out the candles and explained how they had been lit and how Squall had been floating inside the light they had created. He then described with fervor the intense fight he had had with one of the candles, all while Valentine continued to take notes and the occasional picture. Once he had finished describing that memorable night, he briefly touched on Squall's condition, the wasteland in his dreams, and the improvements the boy had made after each visit. He removed the pendant from his neck and attempted to hand it to Valentine, but the other man waved a hand in negative.

"In a moment, perhaps," he explained. "Right now, I am far more interested in something else." His eyes, which until now had merely been warm and calm, had narrowed and they burned with a quiet fire as he moved to kneel beside the magic circle. Cloud assumed he meant to study the symbol in more detail, but he lifted one of the candles and examined it instead. A disapproving noise escaped his throat and he murmured, mostly to himself, "How terrible it is that brilliance is so often corrupted by evil."

Not knowing what to say to that, Cloud remained silent while Valentine set the candle down and picked up another. He examined each of them in this way and then stood, turning to Cloud who was watching him in expectant interest.

"I think," Valentine told him, his face carefully blank, "that, without any more information, I can answer one of your questions."

"Yes?" Cloud replied, suitably impressed.

"Yes," the other man echoed. He turned his head slightly to look at the candles again. "You said that these were burning when you entered and that they only went out when you forcibly broke the spell they were powering."

"Yes, that's right."

"So, these candles were burning for fifty years without change. No wax was melted, no wick was consumed. Clearly, there was magic at work to keep them as such." He paused, turned his eyes back to Cloud with intent. "And there are four of them."

Silence stretched between them until Cloud, not understanding, prompted, "And?"

Valentine's expression softened into something resembling sadness. Gently, he asked, "Didn't you tell me that there were four other children who disappeared at the same time as Leonhart?"

Realization hit him so hard that he stumbled backwards several steps and had to clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from being sick. Eyes wide, he couldn't stop himself from staring at those little candles, so innocent-looking yet so very horrible. And to think of how he had fought and struggled with one of them, digging his fingers in and dragging it across the floor ... he nearly doubled over with the effort of keeping the bile down.

Valentine's sympathetic voice filtered through the ragged sounds of his own breathing as it roared in his ears. "I cannot be certain until I check the practitioner's notes, but I doubt that there is anyone else we can save."

He passed by Cloud and wandered out; after a brief moment, Cloud turned tail and followed him, all but fleeing from the room.

To his surprise, the study was empty when he entered. He took a moment to catch his breath, shaken as he was, then called out for the other man. "Valentine?"

"You may call me Vincent if you like," the deep voice responded from near the top of the stairs. "Whichever name makes you more comfortable."

Following the sound, Cloud rounded the corner at the bottom and looked up at the man who was running his fingers up and down all the sides of the doorframe. For a minute, he stood there and watched, simply breathing, but eventually his curiosity overcame any lingering disquiet he may have had.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for the remnants of the illusion spell you broke," Valentine replied. "It will be easier to break the other one if I have an example of her preferred notation. Ah, here we are …" He crouched down to peer at a spot on the frame near the floor and began to mumble to himself.

Cloud had begun to climb the stairs to join him, but he nearly tumbled back down again in surprise when Valentine's left hand began to glow. Mouth agape, he watched as the other man angled the light to hit the frame a certain way, effectively using his own hand as a flashlight. Once he had examined the frame to his liking, Valentine stood and shook his hand once, extinguishing the glow. He turned to descend the stairs again, but he stopped when he saw Cloud and smirked lightly at his expression.

"Considering the amount of magic that has been cast in your house already," he commented with obvious humor, "I'm surprised a simple light spell could shock you so much, Mr. Strife."

Cloud closed his mouth and retorted, "Just because my house is swimming in spells doesn't mean I've ever seen someone actually cast one before, Mr. Valentine."

"Well put," the other replied, his smirk softening. That little half-smile put Cloud at ease once more, and he found himself returning the gesture as Valentine walked down the stairs. Cloud made room for him to pass at the bottom, and, as he did so, Valentine added, "I believe I told you that you could call me Vincent."

"Only if you call me Cloud," he returned with a grin. Vincent's expression did not change, but Cloud caught the spark in his eyes before he had passed by.

It took less than five minutes for Vincent to break the illusion spell that had been hiding Kramer's notes. To Cloud's untrained eye, all he had done was draw three miniature magic circles on the desktop, hold his hands out over them palms-down, and mumble to himself again, although Vincent assured him it was much more complicated than that. The placement of the circles had apparently been the important part, which he explained in layman's terms when Cloud asked. He showed Cloud a circle that had been carved into the desk's leg and another on top of one of its bookshelves and revealed that his circles had been placed to counteract these original ones. He also showed Cloud the circle he had found on the doorframe and pointed out its structural similarities to the ones on the desk. Cloud understood very little of it beyond the basics, but he still came away from the experience feeling duly impressed with the other man.

When they returned to the kitchen, now in possession of Kramer's notebook and several sheets of loose paper, Vincent reseated himself in his original chair and held out his hand. "May I see the pendant now?" he asked.

Cloud handed it over and then took his own seat while Vincent turned the pendant over and over in his hands. "What do you think?" he asked after giving the other man a few moments to study it.

"I'm not certain what to think," Vincent replied with a mild frown. "It definitely has magic within it, but I can't determine the type of spell or even the source. It's possible the answer is in the notes, but somehow I rather doubt it." Closing his eyes, he cradled the lion head in his cupped hands for a moment, then opened his eyes again and shook his head. "It may simply be an unintentional by-product of the original spell. It allows you to connect with Leonhart's mind?"

"I guess," Cloud replied, not certain if that was the case or not. "It lets me talk to him at the very least."

Vincent nodded and then, to Cloud's private disappointment, gathered up the chain and slipped it into his travel bag. "I will try it this evening," he said, unaware of the wave of loss that was sweeping through Cloud as he did. "Perhaps Leonhart will be able to answer some of my questions."

"Maybe," Cloud replied, keeping his voice and expression as neutral as he could. "Just don't push him too hard. Remembering things causes him pain."

"I will keep that in mind." Vincent gave him a small smile of encouragement before sitting up and placing his hands on the notebook in front of him. "The only thing remaining," he stated, "is for me to go through these to see what I can find." Lifting his gaze to meet Cloud's, he continued, "I doubt I can accomplish that before my flight leaves tomorrow, but I can skim through it quickly and try to give you an overview."

"No," Cloud told him immediately. "Take your time. I want this done right."

"Very well," Vincent nodded, his expression holding a hint of approval. "May I stay here or would you like me to move to another place in the house?"

"Anywhere you want is fine," Cloud told him, rising from his chair. He headed into the main part of the kitchen, asking, "You want anything to drink? Water? Juice?"

"Water is fine," Vincent replied, and by the time Cloud placed the glass in front of him, he was already deeply engrossed in the scribblings that filled the pages of the notebook. Knowing that his presence would only serve as a distraction, Cloud wandered off to check his email and then otherwise entertain himself for the rest of the evening.

To his surprise, an email from Michael Innis waited for him in his inbox.

_Hey, Cloud!_ it said, as if the author and reporter were his lifelong friend. _That's cool that you're interested in that old spooky murder mystery. To be honest, it still totally fascinates me even though my book completely tanked. I blame my editors. Seriously. Anyway, to answer your question, I mainly used the old articles and police records from the time, plus I interviewed a few people who were on the force or knew the victims. I don't know how much the people I talked to would want to drag up old memories (if they're even still alive) but you can get the articles from the local library there. Everything's on film, although I bet it's all on disk now. Advances in tech and all that._

_Good luck, man, and let me know how it goes!_

_Mike_

_P.S. If Viola is still working there, tell that sexy beast I said hi! ;)_

By the time he was finished, Cloud found himself rubbing at his forehead much in the same way he did whenever Yuffie was around. For being a professional writer, Innis was rather immature. Although he was in the media, so Cloud supposed that excused him somewhat. The information the man had given wasn't very much, but at least it was more than the nothing Cloud had been expecting when he had written his original email. Clicking 'Reply,' he sent off a quick thank-you, then saved the email to his archives and moved on.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Around dinner, Cloud offer to get Chinese and Vincent agreed on the condition that he be allowed to pay. When the hour grew late, Cloud showed his guest to a spare room and the futon he had dragged into it, then retired to his own room to sleep. It took him a long time to drift off. In spite of him telling himself that he didn't mind and that Vincent talking to Squall was a good thing, he couldn't stop thinking about what they would say to each other. What if Vincent pushed Squall too hard? What if allowing the stranger into his mind broke Squall's trust in Cloud? What if Squall didn't want to talk to Cloud anymore after this? Or worse, what if Squall decided that Vincent, with all his knowledge and experience, would be the better one to help him escape and that he didn't need Cloud anymore at all?

When Cloud finally fell asleep, he slept fitfully and had anxious, restless dreams.

The next morning, Cloud tried to keep his face as expressionless as possible when Vincent handed the pendant back.

"So, what did he say?"

"Nothing," Vincent replied with an odd half-frown. "It didn't work."

Cloud blinked, surprised. "Didn't work?" he echoed. "You mean Squall didn't come out when you called?"

Vincent shook his head and moved into the kitchen. "No. I mean I never got to the desert you described. My dreams were normal." He paused with his hand on the refrigerator door, then added, "Normal for me at least. Do you mind if I make breakfast? Cooking helps clear my mind."

The news rendered Cloud speechless for a few seconds, but he quickly recovered. "Sure. Knock yourself out," he replied, then joked, "Just don't put anything weird in the pancakes."

That got Vincent to smile slightly for a moment, although the frown soon returned as he busied himself about making eggs and toast. Cloud got them both coffee and utensils while Vincent cooked, then sat himself at the table to wait. Once Vincent brought the food over, they ate in silence, Vincent clearly thinking and Cloud watching him think. It was certainly odd that the necklace hadn't worked for his guest the way it had for Cloud, but secretly he was relieved. As helpful as it would have been for Vincent to have direct contact with Squall, Cloud liked the idea that he was the only one who could talk to him, the only one who was welcome in his mind.

"Cloud," Vincent finally said, placing his fork lightly alongside his plate, "will you trust me enough to cast a small, non-intrusive spell upon you?"

The question instantly made a lump of fear shoot up Cloud's throat, but he choked down the automatic reaction and drowned it in a swallow of coffee. "What kind of spell?" he asked once he trusted himself to speak again.

"Simply an observation spell," the other explained, keeping his tone light. "I want to look at your magical make-up to see if there is something there that allows you to connect with Leonhart via this piece of jewelry, something that I do not have. All the spell will do is project that inner part of you onto something else. The table will suffice, or we can use the wall if you prefer. It will not harm or change you in any way."

It didn't sound bad, and he certainly trusted Vincent enough by now. Part of the other man's statement confused him, however. "I have a magical make-up?"

"Everyone does," Vincent answered with a small smile. "Most people simply call it your soul."

"So you want to make a projection of my soul on the table so that you can look at it?"

"Yes."

Cloud hid behind his coffee cup while he considered. It sounded like something he should be embarrassed about, like being seen naked or being watched during sex. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he decided it wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he was curious to see what a soul looked like, especially his own.

"Fine," he said, putting his cup down. "You want to do it now?"

"If you don't mind," Vincent replied, his smile widening ever so slightly.

"Fine."

There were no circles involved this time, only a few patterns in the air made by Vincent's fingers and a few soft-spoken words that sounded like a cross between French and Spanish. Cloud felt absolutely nothing, but a few seconds later, colors began to appear on the table between them. He watched, fascinated, as the image took shape, forming a simple oval of light and color that sparkled gently in the morning sun. Most of the oval was similar in shading and apparent texture, but a small section of it was darker in color and looked rougher. It kind of reminded Cloud of an egg with a yolk near one end and the white surrounding it.

"That's my soul?" he breathed.

"Mmm," Vincent replied, clearly preoccupied. One of his forefingers reached out and traced the outline of the yolk-like section of the image. "Interesting," he breathed to himself.

Cloud waited, then when it seemed that nothing more was forthcoming, demanded, "What's interesting?"

Vincent's distracted gaze flicked to his, then cleared and lowered again to the table. "This section here," he explained, indicating the darker piece, "is probably what is allowing you to make contact with Leonhart. It is also most likely what compelled you to buy this house and what has been giving you your dreams."

Cloud stared at the round ball of color and asked, "How do you know that?"

"Most souls are consistent throughout," the answer came. "There are variations in color and intensity of light, but they are essentially uniform. A section like this is an anomaly." Vincent lifted his head and gazed steadily at his host. "You have a second person inhabiting your body, Cloud."

Cloud choked, his lungs suddenly paralyzed and unable to draw breath. "What?" he gasped.

"It's not that bad," Vincent quickly assured him. "All of our souls are made up of bits and pieces of the souls of people who came before us. That's how people are able to make connections to past lives. However," he continued, gazing down at the image again, "when souls join together to create a new one, they lose sense of their old selves, merging completely to form something new. Yet this soul here refused to merge. It maintains its individuality while still being a part of the whole. That usually indicates a life that was cut short. Things remain in this world that it wished to accomplish, and so it maintains its sense of self until those things can be done."

His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and his breath, newly restored, was coming fast. Cloud stared at the ball of color on the table and swallowed hard. "Do you think it's one of the four others?" he asked. "Or the sixth who died afterwards?"

"Possibly," Vincent answered him softly. "I could find out if you allow me to hypnotize you, but that would require a much larger amount of trust and could easily be considered intrusive."

Cloud shut his eyes and shook his head. "No," he replied. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"I understand." A wave of Vincent's hand banished the image on the table, and he rose from his seat to carry his empty dishes to the sink. Cloud grabbed onto his coffee cup and held it tightly like a lifeline. His mind was awhirl, and he let it rage unchecked. Trying to catch his thoughts right now would be too difficult, and although he didn't want to admit it, he was uncharacteristically afraid of what he might find if he did.

An hour later, he saw Vincent off in another cab with his thanks and promises to keep in touch, then climbed on his bike to go to work. For the rest of the day, he tried to keep himself as busy as he could and refused to think about the possibility that there was another heart, another mind, sitting there in his soul, watching his every move and waiting for its dreams to be realized.


	6. Chapter 6

That night when he went to sleep, Squall was stretched out on the cracked earth, waiting for him.

"Cloud," the young man greeted as he sat up. His face brightened with a little half-smile, but when their eyes met, the smile slipped away almost immediately, to be replaced with an expression of concern. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Cloud replied quickly, schooling his expression as best he could. The obvious lie rankled him, but he really didn't want to talk to Squall about what he had learned that morning. Even mentioning it obliquely would bring up questions he wasn't ready to answer. Instead, he lowered himself to the ground next to Squall and observed, "You're already here this time. Did you feel me coming in or something?"

Those gray eyes scrutinized Cloud's every movement, but his companion seemed willing to let the subject change for now. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "I knew you were coming back at some point, so I just stayed here." A light frown settled over his face as he asked, "Was that really only one day? I know time is messed up here, but it seemed longer."

"No, it was two," Cloud admitted reluctantly. Then, he lifted an eyebrow and asked in confusion, "What do you mean you stayed here? I thought you couldn't go anywhere else."

Surprisingly, Squall's eyes slid away from Cloud's in obvious discomfort. He shrugged as if to make light of the question, but Cloud could hear the mild distress in his voice as he answered, "I can't really, but if I sort of let go of myself, I end up somewhere else."

"Somewhere else? Where?"

The shrug again, and those eyes turned even further away. "I don't really know. Somewhere where time seems to stand still and rush by at top speed at the same time. I end up reliving bits and pieces of my memories over and over again. Other people's, too, although I don't know who since I see from their eyes. They layer on top of each other, going at different speeds, stopping and starting at random. It's kind of like being asleep and watching several dreams at once."

Cloud made a face at the description even though he knew Squall wouldn't see it. "That sounds awful," he commented. "Something like that would give me a headache."

"It's not that bad," Squall replied, but his voice dropped to a near-whisper as he added, "Especially once I let it all go and forget who I am."

Suddenly feeling mildly ill, Cloud inhaled slowly and stared at his feet. He supposed, when he took the time to think about it, that he would have done the same as Squall were he in this situation. From the standpoint of someone who could leave when he wanted, losing one's identity in a volatile mass of images sounded unwise and possibly dangerous, but from the standpoint of one who was a prisoner of this place, it could easily become a blessing. Better to lose oneself in a colorful madness like the one the kid had described than retain one's sanity only to lose it slowly and painfully to bleak, never-ending loneliness.

Squall's voice broke through Cloud's depressing thoughts, sounding stronger than it had before. "The last time you left, though, you said you'd be back, so I decided to stay and wait for you." He turned his gaze back to Cloud, expression apologetic, as he added, "I've been trying to remember things that might help you, but I can't seem to get much by myself."

"No, that's okay," Cloud quickly replied, turning his body slightly to face the other. "I actually don't want you to remember anything when I'm not here, and tonight I don't want you to remember anything at all." At Squall's confused look, Cloud explained to him about his real-life counterpart and the improvements in condition that had occurred after the previous two visits Cloud had made. He also shared his own personal hypothesis that Squall remembering things in the dream-world correlated to breaking bits of the spell in the real world.

"So why don't you want me to remember anything?" Squall asked when he had finished.

"To test it," Cloud explained. "If you don't remember anything and there's still progress tomorrow, that means it's just me being here that does it and you don't have to put yourself through the pain of remembering things. If there's no progress, though, then I'm probably right."

His companion nodded, his expression thoughtful, but slowly an almost devious smirk spread across his lips. When he lifted his eyes to meet Cloud's, the older man could see amusement shining in the younger's gaze. "So," Squall commented, "I guess that means you get to entertain me tonight."

"Entertain you?" Cloud echoed, not yet understanding.

"Yes," Squall agreed, his smirk deepening. "You can tell me all about yourself, starting with why you looked so worried and upset when you first arrived here."

Cloud swallowed heavily as anxiety flooded him. "I already told you it's noth-" he began, but stopped when Squall gave him a flinty look. The expression in those eyes said so much more than simple disbelief. The hard edge of beginning anger was clearly predominant, but there was also something soft hidden behind it, something that spoke of disappointment and suppressed longing. Cloud felt his throat close up as he looked at it, and he had to avert his gaze in order to breathe.

"Fine," he sighed in defeat, making himself more comfortable. This was going to take awhile, and not just because he was reluctant to talk. "Last time I was here, I think I said something about getting someone to help me?" At Squall's confirming nod, he continued, "Well, he showed up yesterday and left again this morning. While he was here, he checked out the basement and everything in it and managed to find Kramer's notes. He took those with him so he can study them for us. Try to figure out what to do next."

Cloud snuck a glance at Squall to find the kid's eyes solidly on him in thoughtful interest, but he couldn't hold that gaze for very long. "This morning before he left," he forced himself to say, "he discovered one last thing. Something about me."

He paused for so long that Squall shoved him lightly with his foot and asked, "What?"

Even though he was already turned away from his companion, Cloud shut his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see the other's expression as he revealed, "I have a second soul inside of me. Another person who's been guiding me to you. It's because of them that I found you. That I can talk to you. That I even bought Kramer's house in the first place."

In the short pause that followed, Cloud listened to Squall's breathing so intently that he heard the slightly larger inhale before he replied, "Okay, but why are you so upset?"

Through teeth gritted in a mixture of anxiety and guilt, Cloud answered, "Because it makes me doubt my motives for wanting to help you. I'm pretty sure this person is one of Kramer's other victims, someone that you knew. You said yourself that I feel familiar to you. So how much is my desire to help you mine and how much is it theirs? How much can I even trust myself? I just …" Sighing, he dropped his head into his hands and finished, "I just don't know anymore."

Squall said nothing for a very long time. Cloud let the silence be. Even with all he had revealed, he had kept the worst of it to himself. Whether Cloud was able to trust his motives or not, the fact remained that Squall was trapped and needed to be rescued. Even if his reasoning wasn't entirely his, he would still want to help the kid get out. The trouble sprang from what to do with Squall once he had succeeded. He had only just admitted to himself that he wanted the kid when all this had happened. What if those feelings weren't really his own? There had been two girls who had died that summer. What if one of them had harbored a crush on Squall and now her feelings had bled into Cloud's? Would he even be able to tell the difference? He had thought he knew which thoughts and feelings were his and which weren't, but now he wasn't so certain. And until he was, he sure as hell couldn't act on them. It wouldn't be fair to Squall if he did.

"Cloud," Squall finally asked, his voice low, "how old are you?"

Caught up in his own thoughts as he was, Cloud barely hesitated before answering, "Twenty-four."

The silence descended again, but this time, there was something tense and heavy about it. Shaken out of his guilt by a sudden feeling of concern, Cloud lifted his head and turned to face the boy next to him. Squall was staring blankly ahead of him, his eyes slightly wider than normal. Confused, Cloud opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but the sudden realization of the implication of that recent question-and-answer snapped his jaw shut again. His own eyes opened wide to stare at his companion in shock and dread.

"So," Squall whispered after another long pause, "it's been over twenty years."

"Actually," Cloud told him in the same tone, "it's been closer to fifty."

The smallest gasp of breath was the only indication that the news had affected Squall at all. "Fifty," he echoed. Then, after a moment to think, he added, "So it's the twenty-first century."

"Yeah."

He nodded slightly, his eyes still staring off into the distance. Cloud watched him carefully, trying to understand what he was thinking right now, trying to imagine what it must feel like to find oneself suddenly fifty years in the future with no way home. The fear, helplessness, and loneliness that he felt was debilitating, and it was only hypothetical, only in his mind. Squall's feelings, he surmised, must have been beyond comprehension.

But then the kid spoke. "When I get out of here, I want a ride in your car."

Cloud blinked once, twice. "What?" he asked.

Squall's eyes slid to his, and Cloud was thoroughly surprised by how clear and calm they were. "Your car. It flies, right? I want a ride."

"Um, no," he answered, still dumbfounded by the change in subject. "I have a motorcycle actually. It doesn't fly."

His answer made Squall frown, his brow furrowing. "Well, do you have a jetpack then?"

Finally, Cloud understood. It was easy to forget because of the mature way he spoke and handled himself, but Squall was, in spite of all he had experienced, just a seventeen-year-old kid from the sixties. "No," he replied, his face breaking out into a smile that could not be contained, "they haven't invented jetpacks yet. Or flying cars. We have been to the moon, though."

"Cool. So we can visit sometime?"

"No."

"Why not? Isn't there a colony or a base there?"

"No. We're all still earthbound. And only scientists can go up into space."

Squall made a noise in the back of his throat that perfectly described how thoroughly disgusted he was with this information. "Some future," he muttered, turning his head away with an even deeper frown.

Cloud couldn't help himself; he laughed. And after a pause, Squall's angry expression melted into a small smile as he began to chuckle as well. They stayed like that for several minutes, side by side, laughing together at the absurdity of it all. Cloud didn't know whether it was intentional or not, but Squall's actions had cleared the air between them. He had been so afraid to make this revelation, so worried about what Squall's reaction would be, but the kid's childish pouting had chased away all of his anxiety and convinced him it would be all right. Even knowing that there were still many issues with the time gap that they would have to face, Cloud knew it would be all right.

"The future is actually pretty amazing," he said in defense of his own timeline once his laughter had died down. "We may not have flying cars or colonies on other planets, but we have made some pretty big steps in other areas."

"Oh yeah?" Squall challenged with a smirk. "Like what?"

And so Cloud tried to describe computers, the internet, cell phones, game systems, CGI, and anything else he thought the kid would find interesting. He tried to tell him about hybrids and cars that could park themselves, but if they didn't fly, Squall didn't care. He seemed very interested in the rest, however, and listened intently to all of Cloud's explanations, asking question after question when he didn't understand. Finally, after a long argument over whether baseball was worth following if Roger Maris was no longer playing, Cloud decided that he had talked enough for one night. Squall didn't want him to leave and said so, but Cloud took the pendant off of his neck and held it out wordlessly until the kid, frown-pouting once again, reached out to take it.

When his fingers closed around the chain, however, they also encased Cloud's, trapping his grip and stopping him from letting go. Surprised, Cloud met Squall's gaze to find gray eyes gazing at him more intently than they had all evening. Cloud allowed his own gaze to be caught by them and waited, unconsciously holding his breath.

"You do feel familiar," Squall told him, his voice even and gentle, "but even if I am just recognizing the other person inside you, it doesn't matter. I had friends, but I never felt comfortable around them like I do around you. I never wanted to talk to them like I do to you. You're different." He paused, lips quirking into a smirk as he finished, "So stop worrying about things and get me out of here. I want to see this future of yours."

Before Cloud could even think to form an answer, Squall had released his hand, taking the necklace and causing the world to fade away.

The next morning, Cloud went to work feeling far better than he had in a long time. He still had his doubts as to which feelings were really his, but Squall's statements had eased his mind and boosted his confidence. Having someone else inside him didn't seem quite so daunting as it had originally, and he once again believed that, even if he didn't have all his feelings sorted out right now, he'd be able to get it all straight eventually. At any rate the kid was right; he had to stop worrying and get back to work.

After he was done for the day, he swung by the hospital for his customary visit. As expected, there was no change in real-Squall's condition, although Vicky, who was on duty that afternoon, kept going on about how he was a miracle patient and someday they would make a movie about him and that she wanted Julia Stiles to play her because she was just so pretty. Rather than listen to the rest of her casting choices, Cloud cut his visit short, only staying long enough to fill out some paperwork that Officer Zuckerman had left for him. According to a note that Aerith had attached to the papers, Squall would be cleared for release Friday afternoon. The news put a smile on his face, and he couldn't resist giving the kid a friendly hair-ruffle as he picked up the pendant on his way out the door.

During the trip home, Cloud remembered that he was running low on milk and so decided to make a quick stop at the grocery store. Once there, of course, he remembered other things he needed and therefore was all the way in the frozen food section, picking out his meals for the rest of the week, when a voice accosted him.

"Hey! It's you!"

Surprised, he turned to find himself face-to-cart with a familiar-looking brunette who was frowning at him like he had just taken the last French bread pizza in the store. He stared blankly at her for a minute before recognizing her: the woman whom he had met in the Starbucks what seemed like a lifetime but had only been a week ago. The one who had bid on his house and lost. The one whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello?" she echoed incredulously. "You ditch me on Saturday, and all you have to say for yourself is 'Hello'?"

"Ditch you-?" he started, but then the memory of his hastily-made promise came back to him. Grimacing, he lifted his hands in what he hoped was a supplicating gesture and said, "Sorry. I forgot. I've been busy."

"Hmph," she sniffed, raising her nose ever so slightly in the air. "Busy, huh? With what?"

Given her attitude and the fact that she had basically forced herself on him in the first place, he should have told her it was none of her business and gone back to his shopping without a second thought. Yet, instead of that, he found himself quickly forming an excuse, piecing together a story that would sound plausible.

"My cousin. He was in an accident last weekend. I've been busy visiting him in the hospital. Trying to see what I can do to help."

Immediately, her expression softened, and her semi-snit melted into sympathetic concern. "Oh, that's terrible," the woman - he thought her name started with 'R', or maybe 'N' - said. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Physically, he's fine, but there's neurological damage and no one's really sure how long it's going to take for him to recover from that." For some reason, he added, "He's coming home to live with me at the end of this week so I can take care of him."

"Oh wow," she breathed, her face overflowing with emotion, "that's so kind of you." Suddenly, her expression turned serious, and in a flurry of motion, she ripped the bottom part of her shopping list off, pulled the pen from behind her ear, and began to scribble something down. "Forget owing me anything," she said as she wrote. "If you need anything - someone to help clean, a casserole for dinner, anything - you let me know, okay? I'll be happy to help."

She stuck the pen back behind her ear and handed him the paper which he realized had her name and phone number on it. Cloud offered her a small smile in thanks as he took it. "Okay," he agreed. "I will."

"Okay," she echoed, and her face broke out into a beaming smile that, had he been interested, would have charmed his heart immediately. "I'll see you around," she said as she turned her cart and began to push it away. "Bye, Cloud."

"Bye, Rinoa," he replied, having taken a covert glance at the paper in his hand. "Thanks."

She responded with a wave and another smile, then turned the corner and left him to his shopping.

That night, after putting away his groceries and warming up some leftovers, Cloud went to his computer to send Vincent an update. On the way there, he remembered to drop Rinoa's contact information on the counter so it didn't end up going through the wash with his pants. He didn't think he would ever end up calling her, but he figured he should keep it so he could at least remember her name.

_Vincent,_ he wrote when he had pulled up his email. _Saw Squall last night but didn't have him remember anything. No change in the hospital, so my idea is probably right. Going to have him remember a little bit each night this week and see what happens. He's coming home Friday, so Thursday night I think I might try to have him remember as much as he can. That way if there's trouble, he'll still be in the hospital. What do you think?_

_Haven't made it to the library yet. Will try to go before the weekend, but I may not have time. Any progress on the notes?_

_Cloud_

After sending the message, he did a quick online search to find directions to the local library and its hours, then spent some time catching up on news and webcomics. To his surprise, Vincent managed to send him a reply before he logged off.

_Cloud,_ it said. _Your plan sounds fine to me, but be careful. If you cause too much pain to Squall within his mind, you could cause cardiac arrest or otherwise damage his corporeal form. I have made little progress with the notes due to time constraints, although I have confirmed that the other four victims were killed. Their bodies were incinerated and their ashes used as an ingredient to make the candles. I will keep you updated as I discover more._

_Sincerely,_

_V. Valentine_

Cloud couldn't stop the shudder that crawled up his spine at the fate of the other kids. He had feared that their end had been something gruesome along those lines. Even so, it was nice to know that he could concentrate his efforts on saving Squall. There were no more survivors to find, no one else he could save.

Once he had finished up with his computer, Cloud wandered back into the TV room to spend the rest of the night watching whatever sports happened to be on. He knew he should be preparing his house for real-Squall and figuring out how he was going to take care of him, but he was too tired to do it tonight. This past week had been an absolute killer. Emotionally and mentally, he was exhausted. One night of procrastination, he figured, wasn't going to hurt anyone. Intending to vegetate until his brain turned to mush, Cloud settled down in his favorite chair and turned on the television.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he started dreaming. He was in his high school cafeteria, Tifa sitting next to him and Aerith across from him. The two girls were chatting about something or other. Whenever he tried to pick out their words, the syllables slid around each other into nonsense, so he eventually gave up trying. Whatever it was, it didn't involve him anyway; the girls kept on prattling as if he wasn't there. Rather than try to interact with them, he munched on what appeared to be a chicken patty on a bun and looked around the rest of the room.

The faces of the other students in the lunchroom came into focus as he settled on them, but they blurred away into nothingness the moment his gaze moved on, the memory of what their faces had looked like disappearing along with them. This didn't bother him. They weren't the important ones. He wasn't sure who exactly was, but he knew he'd know them the moment he saw them. So he looked and looked and kept on looking.

The moment he saw them, he knew. One was a brunette girl, her hair flipped at the ends, smiling and laughing and lighting up the entire room with her dazzling presence. Another was a blond, his hair gelled up in the front, laughing along with good-natured friendliness even though he knew he was the butt of the girl's joke. And there between them, looking sullen and isolated and ignoring them both with a cold fury, was Squall.

Emotions blindsided him with such power, such intensity, that he forgot his own name. All he knew were the violent storms raging inside of him and the fact that _he_ had caused them. He couldn't even put a name to the desires that were surging through his veins. He wanted to punch Squall in the face. He wanted to fuck him into the floor. He wanted to punch him, _then_ fuck him. And then he wanted to do it again.

His fingers dug into the edge of the table so strongly that they hurt when Squall lifted his head and stared directly into his eyes. Swirling in those gray depths, he could see the exact same emotions that were tormenting him, the same madness that had possessed his very soul. The desire to destroy, to possess, to overpower. Squall wanted to rip him to pieces. Squall wanted to claim him as his own. Squall wanted him, and it was driving him insane.

Tifa and Aerith were talking to him now, but he didn't give a damn. The whole cafeteria, the whole goddamn _world,_ was burning from the heat that their stares were generating. Their hatred, their desire, their pure, raw need for the other. There was nothing but him and Squall, nothing but his anger and his lust, nothing but fire.

And then: cold. Existence froze in place. All color drained away until there was nothing but gray. His eyes were still locked on Squall's, but all the emotions he had been feeling were gone, leaving him vacant. He would have shivered had he had the ability to move. Yet even though his body was paralyzed, his mind was aware, and he could feel the presence of another entity. He could feel eyes upon him, their gaze gently caressing the back of his neck, and he could hear very faintly the sound of someone, a woman, laughing. It filled his empty heart with feeling once again, but these emotions that crept into his chest with slow, insidious movements were nothing like the ones that had just left him. Now he felt weakness, vulnerability, and ice-cold terror. They were freezing him. They were killing him. And all he could do was stare into Squall's angry eyes and scream silently within his own mind.

Shaking and covered in sweat, Cloud woke. For several long moments, all he could do was suck in great gasps of air and stare blindly at the television as it blared merrily away. Once the majority of the nightmare had passed, however, he leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and placed a hand over his chest as he tried to make sense of what he had just experienced. These dreams, he now knew, were the primary way that the soul inside of him had to communicate with him. The nightmare was not just a nightmare; it meant something.

Normally, Cloud tried not to be sexist. Aerith was, emotionally, the strongest person he knew, and Tifa, for all her soft curves, was a physical powerhouse. Knowing them had taught him never to associate strength exclusively with men. Yet after this dream, he had no doubt the soul inside of him had been male. The sheer violence of his emotions didn't make sense otherwise. The soul inside him was attracted to Squall, _craved_ Squall, and hated his guts for it. A girl wouldn't have reacted that way, certainly not either of the two who had disappeared, if the reports on them were to be believed. However, a guy in the early sixties, when homosexuality was utterly abhorrent to nearly everyone, certainly would have. The urge to kill Squall would have been just as strong, if not stronger than the urge to sleep with him.

Interestingly enough, his dream told him something else: of the three male choices he had as to who could be inside his body, only two were left. The third had been the blond sitting next to Squall. He had been the second victim, after the quiet, bookish girl who had been the first. The third victim had been the girl in his dream, the brunette, and the fourth had been her boyfriend. Squall had been the fifth, and the final victim, the one whose body had been found, had been a troubled kid who had been known for getting into fights. Considering his rage and the lust he had felt for Squall, Cloud thought he knew which of the two was more likely.

"Almasy," he murmured, curling his fingers slightly as they lay on his chest. "Is that you in there? What are you trying to tell me?"

His heart beat strongly against his hand, but he received no other response to his question. Whatever the murdered boy's soul wanted to say, he had said it and would say no more. Cloud's lips curled gently in a smirk at the silence. The papers had said that the kid was a stubborn bastard who fought authority whenever possible. If information was going to be forthcoming, it would be on the kid's terms, not Cloud's.

Content to let it be, Cloud considered the end of his dream, the feeling of eyes on him. That had clearly been Kramer. What her presence and her observation meant, however, he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps Almasy was trying to say that Kramer had been watching them prior to their kidnappings, that her choice in victims had been planned. The police at the time had thought the same thing since all of the victims had been her students previously. Yet the terror that came at the end seemed more to Cloud than a simple remembrance. It had felt like a warning of some kind. What the kid was warning him about, he didn't know.

Fatigue was setting in with a vengeance, so Cloud turned off the TV and rose from his chair with the intent to go to bed. As he did, he happened to glance out his back door to the porch outside and noticed a black mass sitting in the shadows just beyond the steps that led down into the yard. Curious, Cloud flipped on the porch light to get a better look. Immediately, the mass bolted back towards the darkness of the yard, but as it moved, Cloud realized that it was a dog. He thought he saw a brown or black coat with white legs. The poor thing was scraggly and underfed, clearly a stray. Once it had reached what it deemed a safe distance, it paused and looked back at the house. Cloud could see the nightshine in its eyes as it stared at him in fear, and then it had dashed completely away, disappearing into the trees at the edge of his property. Cloud turned the light off again, making a mental note to pick up some dry dog food at the store the next time he went. If the dog came back, he would leave a bowl out for it.

He went to bed that night, still mulling over his nightmare, and wondering why, considering he had been carrying Squall's pendant in his pocket the whole time, he had had the opportunity to have it at all.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week was uneventful, at least when compared with the week prior. During the day, Cloud worked, visited the hospital to see what small improvement had been made that day, then spent some time at the library before going home for dinner and rest. As Innis had promised, every single article that had been written about the incident was on file for him to read and examine. Some of them he had read before during his internet research, but there were several smaller ones that he hadn't yet seen. They didn't provide any immediate insight to his situation, but Cloud read them all anyway in the hopes that some small detail he absorbed now would prove useful later.

Viola turned out to be the head librarian. She was a smallish woman in her forties who would have been quite beautiful if not for the fact that she had fully embraced the librarian look. She kept her long, auburn hair pulled back in a bun, wore glasses with thick brown rims, and dressed in the frumpiest outfits Cloud had ever seen. Her expression seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown, and although she was quite polite and an extremely helpful aide in his quest, Cloud never saw her smile. As for her opinion on Innis, she had made that clear the first afternoon he had gone. " _Insufferable_ man," she had said when he had mentioned his name, and Cloud had been too afraid of her taking her anger out on him to say any more.

During the evenings, while Cloud slept, he and Squall sat together in the wasteland and talked. They stuck mainly to simple topics like Squall's family, school, and other memories that came easily to him. Each memory brought pain with it, as expected, but Cloud only pushed him gently. He knew that the more the kid remembered, the more his real world self would recover, but he couldn't bring himself to put Squall through too much pain at one time. Instead, he filled the empty space by opening up about himself, telling the kid about his friends and sharing stories from when he was growing up. Squall listened with that expression of quiet interest that Cloud had come to associate with him.

They were so pleasant and so ridiculously comfortable, these evenings he spent in a world where time was held hostage. Being with Squall felt easy, natural, to the point where it would have freaked Cloud out if he hadn't already realized his feelings for the other young man. Even so, it made him nervous to think about their eventual future. At some point he would have to tell Squall his feelings and offer himself up for rejection, and that was never a particularly fun prospect. Someone else might have considered keeping his attraction a secret and suffering in silence indefinitely, but neither Cloud nor the soul with whom he shared his body agreed with that kind of thinking. He'd put it off, but he wouldn't hide it forever. Acting like that seemed too much like cowardice for his liking.

In a way, Thursday night was the perfect example of what would eventually have to occur. All week, Cloud had been putting off causing Squall excessive pain, but he knew as he walked about his house, getting ready for bed, that their mutual reprieve was over. All of the arrangements had been made, all the paperwork filled out, approved, and filed, and tomorrow real-Squall would be coming home from the hospital to live with Cloud. Tonight, he would have to push dream-Squall as far as he could so that, if something happened to his physical body in response, Squall would still have people near him who could help him. He couldn't put this particular step off any longer. It was time.

Grimly, Cloud turned off the downstairs lights and put a bowl of food out on the back porch for the stray. He had seen the dog a few times, but only in the distance. Still, something kept eating the food, so he kept putting it out, hoping that he wasn't just feeding the local squirrels and raccoons. With that done, he went upstairs and went through his nightly routine, the motions comforting in their familiarity. Finally, he slipped into bed, the pendant in its usual place around his neck.

Squall gave him a hesitant smile when he arrived. The kid knew the significance of this visit as well and had told Cloud not to worry about it. Still, Cloud could see the mild apprehension in those gray eyes as they met his own. Squall may have accepted the coming pain as necessary and may have forgiven Cloud in advance for it, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid. The expression in those eyes cut straight to Cloud's heart. He wanted to gather the kid up in his arms and comfort him, tell him it would be okay, but of course he didn't. Instead, he took his usual spot on the ground next to Squall, keeping his hands to himself and his mouth shut.

"Hey," Squall greeted as Cloud got himself comfortable.

"Hey," Cloud returned. He knew from experience that Squall wouldn't appreciate warming up with small talk or anything of that nature, so he dove straight into it. "You ready for this?"

"I guess," the kid answered with a small shrug. He had blanked out his expression which, Cloud had learned, meant that he didn't want anyone to know what he was feeling. The sight sent a fresh wave of guilt coursing through Cloud's body, but he fought it off.

"All right," he said instead, "let's do it."

It had become apparent during previous talks that Squall had several mental blocks positioned in various places in his head. Most of his memories caused some pain when he tried to access them, but the memories hiding behind these walls caused him the most agony. They didn't know exactly how many he had, but they knew through previous tries that the identities of the four kids who had gone before him were securely behind these blocks. Tonight, they were going to knock down as many as they could.

"Four kids disappeared before you did," Cloud began. "What can you tell me about them?"

Even before Squall started speaking, his face had pinched into an expression of pain, but he answered without pause, "The first was a girl, then a guy, then another girl, and another guy. I remember that my dad was worried for me because they were all in my grade, but when the fourth guy disappeared, he said something about it being okay because the next one would be a girl. I got annoyed at him for that, but I often got annoyed at him." He paused, eyes falling closed in concentration. "The first one ... the first one was ... uhnnn ..."

Cloud swallowed his rising concern as Squall's body began to shake slightly with the pain of remembering. After watching him struggle in vain for nearly a minute, however, he could no longer hold his tongue. Thinking that it would help jumpstart the rest of the process, Cloud spoke the first victim's name.

Squall's entire body flickered in and out of existence like a TV with bad reception. Shocked, Cloud stared at him for several seconds, and Squall stared back, equally surprised.

"What just happened?" he asked, gray eyes wide. "I heard you say something, but it was all garbled and it crackled like static."

"All I said was her name."

"Whose name?"

Again, Cloud said it, and again, Squall blinked on and off repeatedly. His heart sinking, Cloud listed the other three names as well, watching as the young man next to him flashed and buzzed like a dying neon light. Just before he spoke the last name, he placed his hand on Squall's shoulder, then jumped as his entire hand up to the wrist passed through the other's body as he flickered. Quickly, Cloud pulled his hand back, not wanting to have it anywhere near Squall when the boy resolidified.

"Shit," he muttered, lifting his eyes to meet his companion's. Sadly, he asked, "You know what this means?"

"Yeah," Squall answered with a grim little smile. "It means you can't help me. I have to do it all on my own."

"Shit," Cloud repeated as he leaned back on his hands and gazed up at the sky.

"You know, you shouldn't swear," Squall chastised him, although there was humor in his voice as he said it.

Cloud just lifted an eyebrow at him and retorted, "Swearing is good for you. There have been studies done that prove that swearing reduces the amount of pain and stress you feel."

"Really?"

"Really. You should try it."

Squall chuckled quietly, but his humor quickly faded. A hesitant expression crept over his face as his eyes slid sideways. "There's something else that reduces the pain," he said, the words coming out slowly and quietly as if he were unsure whether or not to say them, "but I don't know if ... if you would ..."

Initially, Cloud didn't understand what he was trying to say, but when he noticed those eyes flick down to his hands and then quickly away, he suddenly remembered that second night and how Squall had barked not to touch him even as he held Cloud's hands close against his head. "Sure," he said, answering the question that hung unasked between them. "If it helps, I'd be happy to." Then, to prove he meant what he said, he shifted position so that he knelt in front of Squall and lifted his hands to the sides of the kid's face, both palms hovering near but not touching Squall's temples. That final step he left to the boy in front of him.

Squall simply looked at him for a moment, searching for any discomfort on Cloud's part; then, he smiled gently and placed his own palms against the backs of Cloud's hands. Their fingers intertwined as Squall brought Cloud's palms to rest on either side of his face and closed his eyes. Cloud knew the moment the other resumed his attempts at remembering, for the fingers that surrounded his tightened and the pressure on the backs of his hands increased.

"I ... I can't seem to get anything about her," Squall said after a few silent minutes of trying, "but ... I can see ... ugh ... I can see someone ... else ..."

Cloud released the breath he had unconsciously been holding. Seeing Squall suffer like this was painful for him as well, but he knew he couldn't show it. His companion needed him to be strong, unyielding, the rock to keep his footing level while he fought this battle on his own. So even though he wanted to just call an end to the whole thing, he swallowed thickly and said, "If you think it will help, even a little, try to get it." When only Squall's ragged breathing answered him, he encouraged further, "Who do you see? What does he look like?"

"Taller than me," Squall gasped, his hands shaking as they pressed Cloud's firmly against his temples. "Brown hair ... long ... really long. ... Teachers keep ... telling him to ... cut it. ... Says he won't. He's ... wearing boots and ... and jeans ... and a cowboy hat. ... He ... smiles at everyone ... especially the girls ... and ... and ... Dear God, this _hurts_ , Cloud."

"I know," Cloud replied, letting his head dip forward. "I'm sorry." Gently, he brought his forehead down to touch Squall's. The kid's skin was cold and damp, and Cloud could feel him shaking, the tremors passing from the smaller body into his via their three connection points. "You can take a break if you want," he suggested against his better judgment. "Get your breath back."

"No," the answer came with a small shake of his head. "I don't want to lose it. I can ... I can see ..." He sucked in a sharp breath and tightened his fingers so much that Cloud winced, but he bore the pain willingly. Compared to what Squall was experiencing, he knew that this was nothing.

"What do you see?"

"He's ... he's yelling at me. ... Really angry. ... Because ... because ... she's gone ... and ... and I'm not showing it. ... I'm worried, of course I am, but ... I don't show it ... because I just don't, and he's ... he's ... _ahhh_ ..."

At the little whining cry, Cloud bit his lip and closed his eyes. He knew which of the victims Squall was describing. The fourth one. The one whose girlfriend had been sitting at the table with Squall during his nightmare. Yet even though he knew, he couldn't help Squall break through this barrier. His knowledge was worthless; only his presence was of any help at this moment.

"Squall," he whispered, unable to keep the breathless prayer inside.

"I can see him, Cloud," Squall insisted. "I can see his face perfectly. But his _name_ ... I ... I need his _name_ and I can't ... I can't ... nnnggh!"

A giant shudder dislodged them, and Squall's forehead crashed against Cloud's shoulder as their hands fell apart and away. Squall's freed fingers clutched at Cloud's upper arms, searching for purchase against the bare skin. As for Cloud, he acted on pure instinct. His arms slid around the smaller frame, one wrapping around the boy's waist and pulling him close, the other sliding up his back to cradle his head in his hand. His heart thudded dully against his chest, hard and painful, as he laid his head on top of sweaty brunet strands and _willed_ the name from his mind to Squall's.

The breath that rasped against his collarbone grew more even, but Cloud could tell that the body in his arms was still in unbearable agony. The sporadic violent shudders that had racked him previously had turned into one continuous shiver, accompanied by small whines and whimpers that Squall could not keep in as he exhaled. Gently, Cloud began to rock the boy back and forth in an effort to provide even a small bit of comfort.

Squall's voice whistled from between clenched teeth, a pitiful sound that brought actual tears to tightly-closed blue eyes.

"I ... I ... Ir ... Irv ..."

Cloud froze, his eyes flying open. He tightened his grip slightly as he held his breath.

"Irv ... Irv ... ine," Squall choked out, his body going suddenly rigid. "Irvine K ... Kin ... ne ... as ..."

He gasped softly, a final release of breath, and then collapsed against Cloud in an apparent faint. Bursting with relief and something like pride, Cloud tenderly arranged the limp body in what he hoped was a comfortable position with Squall's head in the crook of one arm and the rest of his torso spread across his lap. He had only just finished, however, when the boy stirred again, proving that he had not in fact passed out.

"Irvine Kinneas," he whispered, eyes closed in an expression of exhaustion.

"That's right," Cloud replied in an equal tone. "Irvine Kinneas." This time when the name passed his lips, Squall stayed solid in his arms, and Cloud couldn't help but smile. "He was the fourth one to disappear. The one right before you."

"Mmm," Squall hummed in agreement, not opening his eyes. "His parents were farmers. His father loved to hunt, so he was good with guns. Called his shotgun his first love. Was on the track team but otherwise didn't care much for sports. Good at composition, horrible at math." He paused, and Cloud was suddenly glad he hadn't opened his eyes yet. With them shut, he couldn't see the huge grin Cloud was sporting at Squall's sudden rush of information. "He was always joking, always smiling, but he liked to cultivate that loner attitude as well. He flirted with every girl in school but never asked any of them out. That is until he met ..."

His voice trailed away. Slowly, Squall opened his eyes and gazed up at the turbulent sky above them. "Huh," he said.

"What?" Cloud asked him. He had managed to reschool his expression again and looked down at the boy in his arms with simple concern on his face.

Gray eyes turned to him, and Cloud was relieved to see that they were clear and calm. A little dazed perhaps from what their owner had just endured, but currently free of pain or stress. "I think I hit another block," Squall told him in an even, detached tone, "but this time there's no pain. There's just ... nothing." His eyes unfocused for a brief moment in concentration, then focused on Cloud's face again. His lips curved into an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he said. "I don't think I can do any more tonight."

"Don't apologize," Cloud returned immediately. "You've done plenty." He allowed a little smile of his own to slip into his face as he admitted, "I don't think _I_ could take it if you tried any more tonight."

Squall chuckled a little at that, a tired sound that rumbled up from his chest. "Still gotta do three more," he commented as his eyes fell closed again and his head tilted to the side, towards Cloud's shoulder. "Should get up," he murmured in a voice that sounded half asleep already. "Shouldn't make you ... take care of me ... like this."

Cloud snorted gently. "You're not making me do anything," he informed the other young man kindly. "I want to do this."

One bleary gray eye cracked open to gaze up at him. "Thank you, Cloud."

"You're welcome, Squall." He lifted his free hand and tenderly smoothed the boy's damp bangs away from his forehead. "Get some rest."

Squall made a little noise of acknowledgement and closed his eye once more. In only a few minutes, he was asleep in Cloud's arms. Cloud sat and watched him for what seemed like hours. His head buzzed gently with their recent success and the lingering pain from what they had gone through to achieve it, but that mixture of excitement, joy, and guilt was only part of a muted background in his mind. Instead, his thoughts were focused on the relaxed figure in his arms and the powerful sensations that he elicited from him. The affection that he felt was deeper than he ever thought possible, the desire to protect stronger than anything he had felt before. This was more than just infatuation; this was more than Florence Nightingale Syndrome. This was something that thrilled Cloud and terrified him at the same time.

Gently, Cloud laid Squall's body on the dry ground. He wished he could turn something into a pillow for his head, but there was nothing other than Squall's own shirt and Cloud didn't want to try getting that off while the boy was asleep. Forced to admit defeat, Cloud simply arranged him as comfortably as he could and then removed the pendant from around his neck. He didn't really want to leave while Squall was still asleep, but he didn't know how long he would be out nor did he know how long he could stay and still have it be nighttime when he woke. So he opened one of Squall's hands and placed the pendant in it, although he kept hold of the chain a little longer.

Several silent heartbeats passed. Cloud simply gazed at Squall's face, letting his thoughts float through his head without trying to analyze them. Then, in a moment of bravery, he leaned down and placed a small kiss on the boy's brow. With closed eyes, he shifted to place his forehead against Squall's once more, aligning their faces so their noses brushed. He would not say the words, not now, probably not for a long time, but he could think them. Could and would, because it felt right.

_I love you._

Slowly, with their faces still touching, Cloud let the chain slip through his fingers.

Work the next day was extremely difficult. Cloud kept thinking about real-Squall and wondering what, if any, progress had been made. Several times he found himself holding his phone with Aerith's number on the screen, but he caught himself each time and forced himself to wait until after work hours. Time dragged like it never had before, but eventually, finally, he was walking out the doors and to his waiting bike. The desire to speed was very tempting, but he resisted. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over and lose even more precious time.

When he got to the hospital, he bypassed the elevator and took the stairs two at a time. Before long, he was striding down the familiar hallway, approaching the door with its long-memorized number, and passing through the entrance into the room he knew as well as his own.

Once inside, Cloud's feet came to an abrupt halt, and his blood suddenly turned to ice. Aerith was the only one in the room, sitting in his usual chair which she had placed next to the empty bed. She was crying.

"Aerith," he whispered. All at once, movement came back to his body and he lunged across the room to kneel at her feet. "Aerith!" he said again, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "What happened?"

Her streaming green eyes widened when she saw him. "Oh, Cloud!" she cried, throwing her arms about his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. She began to cry again, this time harder.

Cloud felt a darkness begin to seep into his soul, felt his heart begin to crack. On their own, his eyes strayed to the empty bed and its neatly-made white sheets. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. He had left the kid asleep but stable, exhausted but very much alive. How could this have happened? And he had only just accepted that ... . Grief began to overtake him, washing over his head and pulling him under to drown him in its depths. This was all his fault. He had tried to save the person he loved, and instead ... . He would never forgive himself. Never.

But then, Aerith sobbed, "It's a miracle. A miracle!"

Cloud blinked, stunned for a moment into a blank stupor, then grabbed at the woman around his neck and pulled her away to look into her face. "What?" he demanded. "What do you mean?" Carefully, he examined her again, and this time he saw it. She was crying her eyes out, but there was a smile on her lips, a light in her expression. These were tears of joy, not heartbreak.

"Aerith," he said evenly, trying simultaneously not to get angry at her or too hopeful for her answer, "where is he?"

His friend opened her mouth to answer, but she stopped herself before she could, her eyes straying to the doorway. Expectantly, Cloud turned to look that way. He saw nothing, but he could hear someone talking, a familiar voice coming closer.

"Keep going straight. Just a bit more. Okay, we're here, stop. Turn left. That's right, good. The door's right in front of you, so go straight ahead. That's it. Don't trip."

Cloud watched, amazed, as Squall slowly walked into the room. His steps were small and careful, but he was making them without anyone there to hold or guide him. His open eyes stared sightlessly down at his feet as he walked, his bangs falling loosely in front of his face. As he passed through the door, he lifted an arm and found the wall with his hand, then began to follow it around the room.

"Watch out for the table," Vicky warned him as she bounced into the room after him. "It's a few steps in front of you."

In response, Squall lifted his other hand and held it out in front of him at about waist height. After a few steps, he touched the table with that hand and carefully altered his path to go around it. Grinning madly, Vicky tailed after him, giving him little vocal warnings whenever necessary but not touching him at all until he had made it back to his usual chair by the window and sat down in it. Then, she tackled him and gave him a huge hug.

"I knew you would get better!" she gushed. "I just knew it!" When Squall lifted his hands and pushed at her, she released him, laughing. "Okay, fine, no hugs. You're such a spoilsport." As she straightened, her eyes finally fell on Cloud, and her expression lit up even more. "Oh! Hi! When did you get here?"

Before Cloud could answer, Aerith placed a finger on his lips to tell him to keep quiet. She took a moment to wipe her eyes, then said, "Only a few minutes ago."

"Oh, okay. Are we gonna do ... you know?"

Aerith smiled and nodded. Taking Cloud's elbow, she guided them both to their feet and led him over to Squall's side. Still too shocked and overjoyed to protest, Cloud let himself be positioned near the chair but too far away to touch. No one had told him anything yet, but it looked like their breakthrough the previous night had had extremely dramatic results. He could tell that Squall was still blind and he suspected that he couldn't talk yet either, but he could obviously hear, process, and respond to what was being said to him. It was, as Aerith had said, a miracle.

"Don't say anything yet," his dear friend whispered in his ear just before she pulled away. Still sniffling a little from her earlier crying, she walked over to stand by Vicky and asked, "So, Johnny, did you enjoy your walk?"

Squall, who had been staring out the window as he usually did, moved his head very slightly in her direction before moving it back. It looked to Cloud like an automatic reflex at her voice, followed by an intentional refusal to respond to the question. In other words, Squall was ignoring her, a fact that made him smirk and Vicky giggle.

"We sure did," the other nurse answered brightly. "We went down the elevator, then walked around the first floor a bit, visited the cafeteria, flirted with a couple cuties near the gift shop, then came on back."

"Really?" Aerith replied, her smile widening. "That sounds like fun."

"Yup! We had a blast, didn't we, Johnny?"

Squall absolutely refused to move his head towards either of them, signaling his disapproval of the conversation. Cloud didn't blame him. The kid was still in his hospital gown. While he, if he had been in Squall's shoes, would also have jumped at any chance to walk around after being trapped in a nonresponsive body for weeks, gown or no gown, he didn't think he'd appreciate being teased by a couple of nurses about it either. He wanted to come to the kid's defense, but Aerith had told him to keep quiet so he just rolled his eyes at them as loudly as he could.

Aerith noticed his reaction and smiled at him sympathetically. "Well, Johnny," she said in a more gentle tone, "now that you're back, I think you should know you have a visitor. Cloud is here."

The change was instantaneous. Squall's head moved towards Aerith's voice, and he rose from the chair to stand on his feet. His movements were still slow and careful, but Cloud could tell there was an urgency to them as well. If he had been in complete control of his body, the kid would have been up like a shot. In addition, even though his eyes were still completely dead, the rest of his face was not. His forehead lifted, his mouth opened slightly, and his whole face seemed to be alert and searching. Carefully, he extended one hand again, this time at shoulder level, looking for something that was promised but not yet found.

Cloud very nearly melted on the spot from a mixture of joy, pride, and affection. Not caring that there were two smiling females watching, he took a step forward and grasped that hand in his own. "Hey, kid," he murmured, not trusting himself to speak with any more volume. "How've you been?"

Gray eyes shifted to lock on his face as usual, but this time, there was more. Far more.

"He's smiling!" Vicky cried, clapping her hands together in delight. Then, she grabbed onto her co-worker and shook her as she said, "Look, Aer, look! He's smiling!"

"I see, Vicky," Aerith laughed. "I see."

The brief, beautiful smile didn't last long. At the women's voices, Squall's expression dropped into a scowl, and he turned his head away. He shook his hand out of Cloud's grip and let it fall to his side. A moment later, he was groping backwards, looking for his chair, and as soon as he found it, he sat back down, his head resolutely turned away from the females. The pure petulance in his expression made Cloud laugh.

"Don't worry, kid," he said. "Soon you'll be out of here and home with me, and we can leave your little fan club behind."

Squall just turned his head to look at him, his expression stating without words that that couldn't happen soon enough for him.

There were discharge papers to be filled out and instructions about Squall's care to listen to and dinner to be eaten at the cafeteria because it was just easier that way, and halfway through, Officer Zuckerman appeared with smiles and well-wishes and more last-minute paperwork, but eventually, Squall had changed into his white shirt and jeans and was being helped into a wheelchair so that Aerith could take him down to the first floor to be released. No one in the hospital was about to let a previously catatonic patient ride home on a motorcycle in the daylight much less the dark, so Zuckerman had offered to drive Squall to Cloud's house in his squad car. Cloud suspected the man had done it mainly to see the grateful blush on a certain pretty nurse's face, but he wasn't about to say anything that might jeopardize the much-needed offer.

By the time they were safely at the house and Cloud had seen Zuckerman off with many thanks, it was well past ten o'clock at night. Cloud knew that the next step was to take Squall around his house and let him learn through a combination of touch and being told where everything was, but considering the lateness of the hour, he wondered if he could put some if not most of that off until tomorrow. He had left Squall on the couch as he showed Zuckerman to the door, so he returned there and carefully sat down next to his new housemate. He hadn't really had the time yet to process that the kid was actually there, in his house, under his care, and now, even though he had the time, he didn't have the energy. He supposed, smiling tiredly, that he could put that off until tomorrow as well.

"Hey," he said, drawing those eyes to him, "you wanna just go to bed? I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. How about I show you your room and the path to the bathroom and we turn in for the night?"

Squall hung his head slightly and leaned his body into Cloud's in response. The nurses had discovered earlier that, while Squall could hear and respond to their questions, he still could not answer in conventional means. He couldn't speak, write, use sign language, or even nod or shake his head. Yet he still managed to make himself understood in less conventional ways, like right now.

Cloud chuckled. "All right. I noticed a voice mail message on the machine when I walked in, so let me get that and then we'll go upstairs." Gently, he shifted Squall's weight to the back of the couch and rose to get the phone in the kitchen.

There was only one message, the female robotic voice informed him, left while he was still in the hospital getting Squall checked out. Unconcerned, Cloud pressed the button to play it back.

"Cloud, this is Vincent. I need to talk to you _immediately_. It's extremely important. Call me back as soon as you get this message, no matter what time it is. I don't feel comfortable leaving the information on your voice mail, but I cannot stress enough how very vital it is that I talk to you as soon as possible. Call me."

The message clicked off and the robot began talking again, but Cloud barely heard her. Vincent had sounded extremely stressed in the message, almost on the verge of panic. It was so unlike the calm, quiet man he had met last weekend that it sent a shiver down Cloud's spine. Quickly, he hung up on his voice mail and dialed Vincent's number instead.

"Hello?"

"Vincent, it's Cloud."

"Cloud!" Vincent replied, sounding both worried and relieved. "Thank the gods." That made Cloud blink - most people only believed in one these days - but before he could say anything, Vincent was talking again. "Tell me, did you go ahead with your plan and push Squall on Thursday night to remember?"

"Yes, I did," Cloud answered. A smile slipped onto his face as he continued, "You should see the real one now, Vincent. He's moving around on his own, and he can understand what you're saying and respond back. He still isn't talking and he can't see, but -"

To Cloud's extreme surprise, Vincent cut him off with a low groan. "Oh, no," he breathed through the line into Cloud's ear. "That's bad, Cloud. That's really bad."

"Bad? Why?"

"Where is Squall right now?" Vincent asked instead of answering. There was an edge of actual desperation to his voice.

Cloud frowned. This was getting ridiculous, and frankly he was starting to get annoyed. "He's in the other room on the couch," he replied sharply. "What's wrong? Why are you freaking out?"

"Go get him right now. Don't take your eyes off of him for an instant."

"Vincent!"

"Do it!" the barked command came through the line, making Cloud jump.

"All right! I'm doing it!" he snapped back, turning on his heel and heading back the way he had come. "Now will you please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Vincent sighed softly, then explained in a quieter tone, "I finished reading the notes. I know what the spell is for now. But more importantly, I discovered that Kramer is still alive."

"That's ridiculous," Cloud protested as he exited the kitchen and entered his living room. "She died in prison. The family got her body back and gave her a funeral. It was in all the newspapers at the ..."

Cloud's voice died away. His feet stopped walking. His eyes stared at the couch, at the little indentations in the fabric that said that someone had been there, someone who was no longer there. Slowly, his hand fell away from his ear, the phone still clutched in his fingers, Vincent's voice talking to him and fading away as the receiver dropped.

"Cloud, the woman was a practitioner. An extremely powerful one. It would have been child's play to fake her death. No, she's alive, and she's still connected to the spell. ... Cloud? Did you hear me? Kramer is alive, and the more you break Squall out of the spell, the more likely it is that she'll come for him or you. ... Cloud? Are you there? ... Cloud? Cloud!"


	8. Chapter 8

The shock of seeing Squall gone had temporarily paralyzed him, but Cloud quickly snapped out of it and dashed forward. "Squall!" he called even though he knew the kid couldn't answer him. "Where are you?" Once he had reached the couch, he pivoted in place, scanning the rest of the room for any clues. He knew there could easily be a logical explanation for the kid's disappearance - he could be searching for the bathroom or just exploring on his own - but with Vincent's warnings ringing in his ears, it was getting difficult to fight the panic. Even _without_ Vincent's warning, he didn't like not knowing where the kid was.

"Squall!" he called again.

"Cloud!" Vincent's voice rang out from the phone in his hand. "What's happening?"

Still spinning in place, Cloud brought the receiver back to his ear and replied tightly, "I can't find Squall. I left him here only a few minutes ago, but now he's ..." He trailed off as his eyes finally landed on the one he was seeking. Squall was standing by the back door, partly hidden by the darkness of the room and of the night. He was staring out the door to the back yard, one hand on the glass, completely motionless.

"Cloud?"

"I found him," he answered Vincent's prodding with a relieved sigh. "He's right here. Hold on a sec."

Lowering the phone to his side once more, Cloud crossed the distance to the door and placed his free hand on Squall's shoulder. His heart was still beating a mile a minute from the adrenaline spike, but he ignored it and forced his voice to be calm as he said, "Geez, kid, you gave me a scare. Don't wander off like that again, okay?"

Squall didn't respond. His empty eyes continued to stare out the window, unblinking. As he watched him and waited for a response that never came, a slow uneasiness began to creep into Cloud's heart. He swept his gaze over the other male, taking in his frozen form, his rigid posture, and he started to feel something akin to worry. A voice inside his head pointed out that Squall hadn't turned to look at him when he had spoken. Never before had the kid not followed the sound of his voice. Never.

Cloud's fingers tightened around Squall's shoulder as he said, "Hey, kid. Look at me."

Those gray eyes did not move in the slightest. Worry turned to concern, rapidly escalating towards panic once more.

"Squall, look at me. Hey! Snap out of it!"

"Cloud!" Vincent's voice called up to him from the phone, and Cloud lifted it up to his ear once again.

"Vincent," he reported, "Squall is right here, but something's wrong. He's not responding to anything I do or say. He's just standing here looking out the window."

Vincent spat something that, while it was in a different language, was clearly a curse. When he spoke again, his voice was even but there was an edge to it that spoke of tightly-controlled anxiety. "What is he looking at?"

"Hmm?" Cloud didn't think the question was all that important, especially when Squall was being unresponsive like this, but he shifted a bit so he could follow the other's line of sight anyway. Without the porch lights on, it was difficult to see. There seemed to be something out of place in the back yard, a shape that wasn't normally there, but he couldn't really tell. Until, that is, he saw the nightshine.

"I think he's looking at the stray dog in my backyard," he told Vincent.

"A dog?" the other man echoed.

"Yeah." Cloud squinted a bit to try to see better, but all he could make out was the general shape of the animal and the faint glow of its eyes. It seemed odd that Squall would be so enthralled with it, and something seemed off about the whole thing, but knowing what had caught the kid's attention calmed Cloud down a bit. "It's been coming around my house for about a week now," he continued to Vincent. "It's just a normal stray from what I can tell. I've been putting out food for it, but so far, that's all I ..."

He trailed off, eyes widening. He had finally realized what felt so wrong about this situation. There was no light in the backyard. Nightshine only occurred when the light hit an animal's eyes in just the right way. There was no way in hell he should be able to see the dog's eyes in this situation. And even if there had been light, those eyes were brighter than they should have been and tinted an eerie shade of green.

A shot of fear went through him as he finally understood. "It's her," he whispered. Then, in a stronger voice, he asked, "Vincent, what do I do? It's her. She's in my backyard, and she has Squall." Suddenly he noticed Squall's hand creeping down the door towards the handle and cried out, "No!" as he snatched the hand away.

"Cloud?" Vincent's voice questioned in alarm.

The threat of all-out panic was roaring through him, trying to get him to lose control. Cloud fought it as he cried, "She's trying to get him to let her in! Vincent, what do I do?"

"Put me on speakerphone."

Too scared to argue, Cloud obeyed. Immediately, Vincent's voice began to permeate the room, chanting solemnly in that odd language he had heard before. The man was obviously casting a spell which Cloud thought was utterly ridiculous. How could Vincent cast a spell here when he was still in New England? Instead of wasting his time attempting the impossible, he should be telling Cloud what to do, helping him deal with this, because as much as Cloud didn't want to admit it, he needed help right now. An irrational fear was going crazy within him, reminding him of ancient times when mankind would huddle around their fires and hope that the light was enough to keep away the monsters of the darkness. Sheer will was keeping him from bolting and finding someplace to hide. Will and the grip he kept on Squall's wrist. Somehow that small touch was enough for Cloud to fight through the wild, primal emotions surging through him and find some semblance of his normal calm.

Vincent's voice continued to chant, its deep, silken tones forming arcane-sounding words that seemed to hover in the air around them. Slowly, Cloud's fear began to lessen, restoring his self-control. As he was more and more able to push the emotions aside and stamp them down to manageable levels, Cloud became aware of a kind of electricity growing in his living room. There was a tension in the air, a thickness that was almost palpable, and it was gradually becoming stronger, more obvious. Cloud's eyes widened and his fingers tightened around the phone as he realized what was happening. Whatever Vincent was doing, it was _working_.

Outside, the dog reacted. With measured steps, it approached the house, its eyes glowing even more brightly than before. Just before the steps that led to the porch, it stopped, then lifted a single paw and placed it on the bottom step. Vincent's voice took on a breathless, slightly strained quality, but the flow of words did not falter. The power in the room continued to grow until, suddenly, it snapped, causing the dog to step backwards and Cloud to jump as if he had just been shocked.

Squall moved. Taking a shaky step away from the door, he turned his head to Cloud, his eyes wide and his expression distressed. He looked absolutely terrified, and Cloud didn't blame him one bit. Quickly, he released the kid's wrist and ran his hand up his arm to his shoulder where he gripped lightly to comfort. "It's okay," he murmured. "You're okay." Squall responded by leaning toward him, burying his face in the crook of Cloud's neck and grabbing handfuls of his shirt with shaking fists.

Gently, Cloud wrapped his other arm around Squall's shoulders. It had taken him a moment to realize it, but the fear was now completely gone. It had been her, some spell that she had cast on him to make him flee and abandon Squall. The thought of being manipulated like that infuriated him. "You're okay," he repeated softly in Squall's ear, holding him close and glaring out the door as if daring her to try that again.

The dog was staring at him, crouched down low and growling. It bared its fangs at him and flattened its ears. The glow from its eyes had receded a bit, but it was still enough to cast glints of green off of the animal's many teeth. If he hadn't been so royally pissed off, Cloud probably would have been afraid again, at least a little. Even with a door separating them, seeing a wild animal in front of him, so obviously angry and primed to attack, was a frightening experience.

Pushing the button to remove the speakerphone, Cloud lifted the phone up to his ear and asked, "Vincent? You still there?"

The man on the other end exhaled shakily but otherwise seemed all right as he answered, "Yes, I'm here. What's the situation there?"

"I have no idea what you just did, but it worked. Squall is back to normal. She had a spell on me, too - some kind of fear spell - but you broke that as well. We're both fine if a bit shaken up. As for Kramer ..." He paused and tensed slightly as the dog suddenly moved. Still snarling faintly, it turned and quickly retreated into the darkness of the yard, not bothering to look back. Cloud watched it go, then reported, "Looks like she ran away. She looked seriously pissed though."

"She'll be back," Vincent stated with a certainty that made Cloud shiver. "Cloud, you and Squall need to get out of that house."

Squall still had his head pressed against Cloud's shoulder, and it didn't look like the kid would be moving it any time soon. Cloud pulled him a little closer and gently threaded his fingers through brown strands. "And go where?" he asked Vincent, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "Won't it be more dangerous out in the open?"

"No. Out in the open you're less likely to be surrounded. Honestly, nowhere is safe, but staying there will be like delivering yourselves to her in a gift-wrapped box."

"Oh gee, thanks."

"I'm serious, Cloud," Vincent replied, his voice disapproving. "If she's gone, she's gone for reinforcements. You need to get out of that house. Now."

Cloud sighed. Thankfully, the anger he had felt was keeping any fear from returning, but even without it, he could see that the situation was starting to get out of control. How the hell was he supposed to fight a witch? Clearly, he couldn't, which was why Vincent was telling them to, essentially, run.

He took a step backwards to dislodge the kid from his chest and used the hand that wasn't holding the phone to lift the other's chin so he could look into unseeing gray eyes. "Squall," he said as gently as he could, "we need to get out of here and go somewhere else, okay? Come on."

Squall still looked absolutely petrified, but when Cloud took him by the hand and pulled, he followed without resistance. They moved through the house, passing through the kitchen to get to the garage and Cloud's bike. "Where should we go?" Cloud asked Vincent as they left the living room. "A hotel?"

"No. It's too easy to find you with the register, and the exits can easily be blocked off." Vincent sounded slightly rushed as he talked, like he was also moving about his house in preparation of leaving. "No, you'll need to go somewhere you haven't been before. She's obviously been watching you, so don't go anywhere you usually do. Having other people around would be good, but not too many. You're going to need to have good line of sight in all directions so you don't get trapped or surrounded."

Cloud shook his head, feeling quite definitely out of his depth. Some of the fear was starting to come back, little tendrils of dread snaking up through his chest to his heart, but he stamped them down before they could even think about crippling him. Passing by the kitchen table, he snatched up his jacket for Squall to wear and said, "Vincent, this is sounding like more than I can handle. Maybe I should go to the police."

"They won't be able to help you," the answer came immediately. "Just find somewhere relatively safe for tonight. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You'll what?" The announcement came as such a surprise that Cloud actually stopped walking.

Vincent kept talking like he hadn't heard. "A diner. Yes, an all-night diner will be perfect. Sit by the windows and stay alert until I call you."

"Wait a minute, what do you mean you're coming here? If you're going to catch a flight -"

"No more talking!" Vincent snapped, and suddenly Cloud could hear the panic in his voice. "You've been there too long! Get out of there now and get to a diner. I'll call you when it's safe. Now, go!"

Vincent was afraid for him. Cloud could hear it through the phone lines, several states away. Vincent was actually afraid for him. That more than anything else brought the fear rushing back into his body. This time, however, it threatened to paralyze him, keep him rooted to one spot rather than encourage him to run like he should be doing. For a moment, it nearly overwhelmed him, but then he felt the hand in his tighten slightly and that brought him back to himself.

"All right," he said, taking a small breath to calm himself, "we're going. Thanks, Vincent."

"You're welcome," the other man replied. "Good luck." A moment later, he had hung up.

Cloud tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter and began to help Squall into his jacket. There was a grim determination to his movements that the kid obviously picked up on, for, although he allowed himself to be guided into the garment, he stared at Cloud with blind yet still frightened eyes. "It'll be all right," Cloud told him. "We're going to get out of here before she comes back and just hang out somewhere for the rest of the night. We'll be fine." The words came out automatically, but he hoped they would help calm Squall down a little. If he said them with enough conviction, he might be able to fool them both.

Taking a deep breath, he took Squall by the hand and said, "Let's go."

In the garage, Cloud carefully fitted an extra helmet on Squall's head and helped the kid up onto his motorcycle. He noticed as he did so that Squall was still barefoot, and the realization made him frown. They didn't really have time for Cloud to go back in the house and get him anything, but a restaurant, even a diner, wouldn't let him in without shoes. They would simply have to stop at a drugstore somewhere and get Squall a cheap pair of flip-flops or something.

Something in Cloud's gut suggested that it would be better to make as little noise as possible, even if it meant taking a bit more time, so rather than start up his bike and use the automatic garage door opener, he lifted the door by hand, wheeled the bike out manually with Squall's hands on his shoulders to keep his balance, and then closed the door again. All his senses were on high alert as he moved, searching for any indication that Kramer had returned, yet by the time he slung his leg over the bike, there had been nothing. Then, just as he slid the key into the ignition, he heard it: howling. It started quietly, a single voice in the night, but another voice joined, then another until the air all around him seemed to ring out with the sound. Kramer had indeed gone for reinforcements. Cloud had thought that perhaps she would recruit the many other dogs in the neighborhood, but with a smaller ripple of his earlier fear, he quickly realized that she had in fact found much more formidable allies.

The roar of his engine as he turned the key brought them running. They came from the back of the house, appearing from both sides as they sprinted towards the driveway. There were at least a dozen of them, coming at him with teeth bared, ears back, and throats snarling. Wolves. Large, fierce, and terrifying. And there, near the bottom of his driveway, was the stray. It prowled up the lawn toward him, its movements unhurried, confident, as if it knew it had won.

Cloud knew he should have been terrified, yet he felt surprisingly calm as he kicked up the stand and shifted the bike into gear. Even though painful death was approaching from multiple sides, he was clear-headed and completely focused. A pair of arms gripped him around his torso, giving him courage. Squall needed him, and Cloud _would_ protect him.

His blue eyes met glowing green ones, and he smirked. "You want him?" he challenged. "You get him over my dead body, _bitch_."

He gunned it, and the bike shot forward, knocking over the first few wolves who had nearly reached him. The rest gave chase, but Cloud bent his head over the handlebars and concentrated on steering. He sped down his driveway as quickly as he dared, swerving around a few more wolves and finally the stray who leapt at him as he passed, then pushed the bike to its limits once it hit the open road. The wolves followed him for a bit, but no animal, magicked or not, could keep up with a machine that could hit well over 120 mph. Howling in frustration, the wolves fell back, yet even so, Cloud didn't slow at all until several miles had passed. Only when he was absolutely certain that they had not been followed did he allow the bike to fall to a proper speed and even then he pushed the limit as much as he dared. With his heart pounding in his ears and Squall's face pressed against his shoulder, he didn't feel comfortable going any slower, at least not for a while.

They drove for a good twenty minutes without stopping, and by the time Cloud looked around to see where they had ended up, he had no idea where he was. Surprisingly, he was somewhat comforted by this. If Vincent was right and Kramer had been following him for a while, getting lost was the best thing he could do at the moment. Remembering the state of Squall's feet, he pulled into a 24-hour Walgreens and, with Squall firmly attached to his arm, picked up a pair of flimsy flip-flops and a local map. Then, he went searching for an all-night diner. When he found one he liked, he did his best to keep a low profile even though he knew it was pretty much useless - motorcycle, leather jacket, kid who was clearly blind or traumatized or both. Still, he settled Squall into a booth quietly, then ordered simple finger foods and milkshakes for them to eat while they waited for Vincent's call.

Squall had absolutely refused to sit across from Cloud, so while they waited for their food, Cloud held him loosely to his side and ran his fingers through the kid's hair while he gazed out the window. Squall was no longer clutching at him, thankfully, but he was still obviously quite scared, and Cloud couldn't blame him. He was still running on a mixture of adrenaline and the need to protect, but he expected that, at some point while they were here, he would realize the enormity of what just happened and have a mini-breakdown of his own.

It didn't help that Vincent had been able to tell him so little. All he really knew was that Kramer was still alive and able to possess animals. And that she didn't like the fact that Cloud was trying to break Squall out of the spell she had put on him. Vincent had said that he now knew what the spell did and Cloud was willing to bet that he knew quite a bit more about several other things as well, but that didn't help Cloud right now. Right now all Cloud had was his imagination and lots and lots of time to use it. It didn't take some genius magician to tell him what a bad combination that was.

When the food arrived, Cloud set Squall up with a milkshake, then went to work on the fries as he resumed his watch of the outside. He didn't feel like running a monologue at the moment, and he honestly doubted Squall would mind, so he worked on keeping his mind blank instead. It was easier than he thought it would be. Having Squall's comfortable weight and warmth beside him calmed him and let him let go of everything, including the passage of time. Slowly, the food and drinks disappeared, and eventually they were gone and Squall's head was on his shoulder as the exhausted boy slept. Cloud continued to keep watch, somehow not even the slightest bit tired in spite of the late hour.

It was well past three in the morning when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Somehow managing to extract it without waking his companion, Cloud checked the ID and then brought it to his ear with a relieved sigh.

"Vincent?"

"Cloud," the other man answered. "Are you ... and Squall ... all right?"

Cloud lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Vincent sounded completely out of breath, like he had just run a couple of marathons back to back. "Yeah," he answered the question. "Squall and I are fine. We went to a diner like you said. Had to fight through Kramer and her reinforcements, though." He frowned heavily, falling back on anger to keep himself from shivering at the memory. "She had wolves, Vincent. _Wolves_."

"I ... know," Vincent gasped. "Don't ... worry. They're ... gone."

"Gone?" Cloud echoed. "How do you know?" When only the sound of wheezing answered him, he let that question go in favor of a much more important one. "Hey, Vince, are you okay?"

"Tired," the other answered. Something that sounded vaguely like a chuckle came through the line. "Very ... very ... tired." Before Cloud could say more, Vincent continued, "You two can ... come home now. I ... put a barrier ... around the house. ... Safe now ..."

"You did what? Vincent, where are you right now?"

"In your ... living room ..."

"What the hell? Did you _teleport?_ "

"Tell you ... tomorrow," Vincent said, his breathless voice little more than a whisper now. "Too ... tired. Used up ... too ... much ..."

Cloud immediately relented. This man, who had been a complete stranger to him a week ago, had somehow traveled across multiple states, fought off a witch and her wolves, and safeguarded his house, putting himself in danger and obviously depleting all his energy in the process. Cloud probably owed him his life. He wasn't about to repay that amazing favor by pushing for answers right now.

"Get some rest," he ordered kindly. "Squall and I will come on home."

"Mmm," Vincent responded. There was a beep as if one of the phone's buttons had been pushed and then a clunk like the sound of the phone hitting the floor. Cloud had to hold back a laugh. Vincent had obviously tried and failed to hang up the phone and then collapsed in exhaustion. Hopefully he had made it to a chair or the couch and hadn't ended up on the floor.

Hanging up his end, Cloud turned to Squall and shook him gently. When bleary gray eyes blinked at him, he smiled and said, "Come on, kid. Time to go home."

They found Vincent crashed out on the couch, dead to the world, one arm dangling off the edge towards the phone which lay on the floor. Cloud replaced the arm to lie across the man's chest and covered him with a few blankets but otherwise left him be. He wandered around the first floor, turning off lights, and then led Squall upstairs for some much-needed sleep. He had intended to let Squall sleep in the guest room while he slept in his own room, but the kid was once again refusing to let go of his arm. Rather than fight it, Cloud simply kicked off his shoes, emptied his pockets, and climbed into bed with Squall. He knew he would probably regret the decision in the morning, but for right now, he was too damn tired to care. After the night he had had, he deserved a little cuddle time with his crush, even if he was too exhausted to really appreciate it.

Safe within his house, with Squall's body against his and the kid's head on his shoulder, Cloud fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes to the dream world, he was a bit surprised. He hadn't gone to bed wearing the pendant. Confusion about this, however, was suddenly blasted away by the sight of Squall on the ground in front of him. The kid was curled up in a tight ball, his arms around his drawn-up knees and his head buried in his lap.

"Squall?"

At the sound of his voice, Squall's head shot up. Cloud had a momentary glimpse of wide, wild gray eyes before he was suddenly being gripped by the shoulders and shaken. All he had seen was a blur of limbs unfolding and then Squall was right there in his face.

"You said she was dead!" the kid accused with a face on fire. "You told me she was dead!"

His expression was angry, furious, but Cloud, having experienced it himself so recently, could see it for what it really was: a shield to hide the fear. "I thought she was," he replied. "I'm sorry."

Squall pushed him away and turned his back on him. "She was here, Cloud," he said in a strained voice. "She was in my head. She ..." He broke off, shaking his head. Cloud reached out to offer what comfort he could, but Squall pulled away from his touch as if it were poison. "Don't touch me," he snarled, taking several steps away from him. "Go away. Leave me alone."

Cloud didn't respond. Truthfully, he wasn't sure _how_ to go away when he didn't have the pendant, but even if he knew, he wouldn't have done it. Squall's distress was evident and understandable. Cloud wasn't about to leave him yet.

Silently, he watched as Squall resumed his former position on the ground, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around his knees. Once the kid had settled, Cloud sat down next to him, giving him as much space as he could while still being in touching distance. Squall flinched slightly but gave no other reaction, so Cloud simply made himself comfortable, gazed up at the cloudy sky, and waited.

It was hard to judge time in a place like this, but eventually, slowly, the tightness in Squall's body eased. Then, he spoke, his voice quiet and small, almost as if it didn't want to be heard.

"She got in my head. She saw my thoughts. My hopes." He paused, drawing in a shuddery breath before saying, "She laughed at them."

"I'm sorry," was all Cloud could think of to say. It clearly wasn't what Squall wanted to hear. His ball tightened again, his shoulders shaking slightly at the tension in them. Cloud frowned as he looked at them, wanting to touch and soothe but knowing he shouldn't. Instead, he focused on what Squall had said and what he had been supposed to say. It didn't take him that long to figure it out once he thought about it. Hopes. It was pretty obvious what Squall's biggest hope was and how devastating it would be to have it laughed at.

"Squall," he said solemnly, "I promise you that I will get you out of here. I will save you, or die trying."

Déjà vu hit him hard. He had said those words before, or something similar. His chest tightened, almost to the point of pain, and Cloud could very nearly hear the voice in his head. An angry voice, young, determined. _I swear I'll find him or die trying._ Sadness swept through him then, some of it his own, some of it not. He remembered his original dreams: always running, always searching, and then the last one: pain and fear. The soul within him had made that exact same promise and had died trying.

Cloud swore to both of them that he would not.

Squall was still curled up, his body still tense, but something had changed. Cloud realized what it was when he heard a little stifled inhalation escape from beneath those folded arms. It was the sound of someone desperately trying not to cry and only partly succeeding. "She said," Squall whispered, obviously trying to hide the tears that leaked into his voice, "that I would never see you again."

Cloud responded by reaching out and placing his hand on Squall's arm just above the elbow. When Squall moved, he thought he was about to get shaken off again or slapped away, but the hand that came for his gripped tightly and pressed down instead. It hurt a bit, but Cloud didn't mind. He knew now that he would give his life for Squall if necessary. The circulation in his fingers was a sacrifice barely worth mentioning.

They sat like that for a very long time, side by side, not speaking, one hand holding the other. At some point, Squall lifted his head, but he did not turn to meet Cloud's eyes and he didn't uncurl from his ball. Cloud let it be. Eventually, he curled up into a ball of his own, legs drawn up and his other arm draped across the knees. After a while, he put his head down on his arm, and then, after another while, he closed his eyes.

He opened them again to his guest bedroom and the feeling of soft hair under his chin. Confusion again briefly touched him, but he quickly put it aside. He was in bed, Squall was in his arms, and he was still exhausted. Everything else, especially the confusing things, could wait until tomorrow. And with that thought, Cloud fell back asleep for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Saturday morning arrived, and Cloud slept right through it. He woke once or twice when Squall shifted in his arms, but whenever it happened, he fell back asleep quickly. It was nearly noon by the time he was able to open his eyes and keep them that way for more than a few seconds. Even then, it was a struggle to haul himself out of bed before his brain could wake up enough to realize how nice it was to wake up with Squall next to him. Somehow he managed it and spared himself any embarrassment.

After taking his usual morning bathroom trip, Cloud stood at the foot of the bed and debated whether to wake Squall up or let him sleep. The kid looked ridiculously cute curled up beneath the blankets and so comfortable that Cloud wanted to crawl back in with him, making the temptation to leave him there extremely strong. However, Cloud knew Squall would freak out if he woke up and Cloud wasn't there, so, reluctantly, he shook the kid awake and, after leading him to the bathroom and waiting outside for a bit, helped him down the stairs to the kitchen.

Vincent was still unconscious on the living room couch. Cloud checked on him briefly, then started a pot of strong coffee for the three of them. Once the machine was happily percolating, he began the task of finding what, if anything, existed in his kitchen to make a decent breakfast. Squall sat silently at the table, his head resting in one hand, his eyes following the sounds Cloud made as he moved about the room. He seemed to have calmed down considerably from their ordeal the previous night, but the tightness in his back and shoulders betrayed how stressed he still was. Cloud didn't blame him in the slightest. The only reason he was acting so calm was because he was outright refusing to think about it, at least until Vincent was awake and could give him some answers and, hopefully, assurances.

He had decided on scrambled eggs and toast and was breaking the eggs into a bowl when Vincent stumbled into the kitchen. The man still looked half-dead, his eyes hazy and his face pale, and he all but collapsed into the chair next to Squall. As Cloud approached him, he pushed his unbound hair out of his face and tried, with only partial success, to focus on Cloud's face.

"Good morning," he croaked in a voice so deep it was practically a rumble.

"Good afternoon," Cloud corrected, suppressing a grin. He plunked a large mug of coffee down in front of him and continued, "Breakfast will be ready in a couple of minutes. I'm making extra since I thought you might need to, you know, refuel or something." He honestly didn't know how magicians replenished their energy reserves, but he had figured that food couldn't hurt.

Vincent smiled at him as he took the mug. "I will," he replied, confirming Cloud's suspicions. "Thank you." Cloud nodded once, pleased with himself, and returned to the stove while Vincent sipped at his coffee, cradling the mug lovingly in his hands. After a few minutes, he turned to the boy beside him and inquired, "Squall Leonhart, I presume?"

"That's right," Cloud answered. Since the eggs were almost done, he pulled plates out of the cupboard as he continued, "Squall, the guy next to you is Vincent Valentine. I told you about him in the hospital, though I don't know how much you remember from back then." He snuck a look over his shoulder to see Squall staring blankly in Vincent's direction while Vincent openly examined him, his curiosity obvious. Cloud smirked and returned to dishing out the food. He would never admit it, but he liked the way Squall was so hostile to everyone but him. It made him feel like the two of them had a special bond that no one else could elbow in on. When it came to Squall, Cloud didn't feel like sharing.

When the food was ready, Cloud brought three plates to the table. He sat down on Squall's other side, across the table from Vincent, and proceeded to explain to the kid what was on his plate and where it was. Then, he picked up his fork, and silence reigned as the three hungry men began to eat. Vincent absolutely inhaled his portion, somehow managing to still look dignified as he did it. He requested and was given a second helping, and somewhere in the middle of it, he began to slow down. The food visibly improved him, bringing color back into his face and life into his eyes. By the time he placed his fork aside and lifted his mug to sip at the remains of his coffee, he looked as healthy and composed as he ever had.

Across the table from him, Cloud pushed his own dishes aside and smiled slightly. "All better now?" he asked.

"Indeed," Vincent replied with a smile of his own. "Thank you."

Cloud nodded. "Good," he said, grimness taking over his tone. "So how about you tell me just what the hell has been going on?"

The other man didn't lose his smile, but his attitude grew serious as well. He placed his coffee mug down and folded his hands in front of him to gaze at Cloud across the table. "There is so much to tell that I'm unsure where to start," he confessed.

"Well, that bitch Kramer is alive and nearly took out Squall and me last night. Why don't we start with that?"

Cloud's voice had been unnecessarily biting, but thankfully Vincent didn't take offense. "Very well," he said, reaching into a pocket to retrieve his PDA. "When I left here last time," he began, "one of my tasks was to study the notes and determine what the spell that Kramer cast actually did. I discovered that it is a time manipulation spell as I had first suspected. The purpose is to stop time and thereby grant immortality to the caster. I have always worked under the assumption that the spell was successful, so when I learned this, I concluded that Kramer was still alive and called to warn you immediately."

"Immortality," Cloud echoed, his voice flat.

"Yes."

"Wonderful." Dropping his head into one hand, he groaned out, "That's just what we need. An evil witch who can't be killed."

"In essence, yes."

"Lovely."

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Cloud noticed Squall's hand sliding across the tabletop towards him. Without a second thought, he reached out and took it, giving it a reassuring squeeze. When he looked up at that face, empty eyes stared down at where their hands touched, the sadness obvious in that quiet expression. Sternly, he reminded himself that Squall could not only hear but understand everything they were saying. Any distress that Cloud felt from the conversation would affect Squall ten times as much. He would need to remember that and offer comfort whenever necessary. Gently, he squeezed the kid's hand again and moved his chair just slightly closer.

Vincent's sharp eyes were on their linked hands, one eyebrow slightly raised, and it went even higher at the sound of Cloud's chair scraping across the floor. Any comments he had, however, he kept to himself. Consulting his hand-held, he continued, "The spell is accomplished by creating something that Kramer dubbed 'time compression'. All time is compressed into a single moment, thereby eliminating the passage of time and the process of aging. If the caster were to be placed in time compression, however, she would not be able to live among the rest of us and enjoy her immortality. Therefore, a substitute is placed within time compression and the caster connects to the space through this substitute so that she can live normally yet still not age."

"And Squall is the substitute," Cloud guessed. The hand beneath his trembled slightly.

"Exactly," Vincent answered him with a nod. "Mr. Leonhart's soul is stuck within time compression. Furthermore, I discovered that we are dealing with more than one spell. Kramer, in addition to being a very powerful practitioner, is an extremely intelligent woman. Knowing that this spell would have to last indefinitely, she cast, in addition to her main spell, a rather large protective spell and a spell that would give the other two infinite power. The circle downstairs was for this last one. When you broke Mr. Leonhart out of the circle, you deactivated the spell that fuels the other two. They will continue to hold for several more years, but they are now weaker and able to be broken. This is why, when you first broke the spell, Kramer was willing to stay back and take her time, yet as you came closer and closer to breaking what I assume to be the protection spell, she suddenly made her presence known."

Cloud forcibly blew a breath out with puffed cheeks and glanced at Squall. The kid was still staring at their joined hands as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world. If any of this surprised him, he didn't show it. "Go on."

Vincent nodded and continued, "The barriers that I placed around the house last night will keep Kramer away from us for a while, but they are only a temporary solution. We need to break the remaining spells, not only for Mr. Leonhart's sake but for our own as well. Until they are gone, I am certain that Kramer will continue to try to reach us and regain Mr. Leonhart. She will most likely continue trying even after they are gone, but at that point, time will have caught up to her, making her weaker and more vulnerable."

Cloud grunted softly, expressing his understanding, then asked, "And you know how to break them?"

Something heavy settled in his stomach when Vincent slowly shook his head. "At this point, no. I only had enough time to read and decode the notes on how to create the spells. I haven't even begun to create counterspells for them yet. However, I have a task for you to do while I'm working on that, one that will need to be completed before I can cast anything of my own."

"All right. What is it?"

Vincent stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes slightly unfocused in thought. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "I should show you rather than try to explain it." His gaze shifted to Squall, his expression curious once more. "Do you think Mr. Leonhart would mind if I cast the same spell on him as I did on you the last time I was here?"

"The one that lets you see his soul?" Cloud confirmed. When he received a nod in response, he answered, "No, I don't think so. I didn't feel a thing when you did it on me."

Vincent set his PDA aside and lifted his hands to trace circles in the air as he spoke the words of the spell. A few seconds later, a projection sat on the kitchen table, although this one was nothing like the one Cloud had seen before.

"What the hell ... ?" he breathed.

Cloud's soul had been a sparkling mass of bright color with that one darker spot that indicated his own personal interloper. Squall's soul, in comparison, was a mess. There was a small circle of color in the very center, but, where Cloud's had moved and shimmered, it was completely still as if frozen. The rest looked divided into four equal parts by two shimmering diagonal lines that passed through the center. Three of the four sections had streaks of colored light constantly racing over a dark background like wild lightning in a stormy sky. The fourth section was simply black, completely empty.

"That's strange," Vincent murmured, sounding confused.

Cloud snorted at him. "Strange is an understatement. What the hell is this?"

The man across from him shook his head slightly as if to clear it. When he spoke again, his voice had the normal professorial tone he used when explaining things. "This is, essentially, the protection spell. In order to ensure that Mr. Leonhart's soul cannot be freed from time compression, most of it has been removed and placed in other locations. The only part of his soul remaining is this small bit in the center, which you'll notice is completely still as time for it has stopped flowing. The rest of his soul has been split into four parts, corresponding to the other four victims, and each part has a lock on it that must be broken before that section of his soul can be reinstated. What confuses me, however," Vincent confessed, leaning closer to the projection, "is why this part here does not have a lock." He tapped the blank section with one finger, his lips pulling down into a frown. "According to the notes, all four sections were locked."

"Well, what do you have to do to unlock them? Maybe it was already done for this one."

Vincent shook his head again, this time in response to Cloud's suggestion. "Unfortunately," he confessed, "I don't know yet how to unlock the sections. As I said before, I haven't had the time to work on it. If this section was unlocked somehow, I don't know what was done, and without that knowledge, I can't duplicate it for the other three." With a mild sigh, he folded his hands in front of his face and rested his chin on his thumbs as he continued to examine the projection. Quietly, he mused, "If only there were some way to tell which of the four victims that section corresponds to. That might help determine how it was unlocked."

The answer hit Cloud like a proverbial ton of bricks, so hard that he barely felt Squall's fingers tightening on his as the kid also seemed to understand.

"Irvine Kinneas."

Vincent glanced up at him, surprised. "What?"

"Irvine Kinneas," Cloud repeated. "That's whose section that is." He lifted his head to find Squall's eyes on him, that expression calmer than it had been all morning. There was even something resembling a smile tugging at the corner of the kid's lips, making Cloud want to smile himself. Feeling a weight lift from his shoulders, he turned to Vincent and explained, "I told you that on Thursday night we had a breakthrough. One that was big enough to get real-Squall almost to the point of complete recovery, and big enough to bring Kramer down on our heads. That was our breakthrough. Dream-Squall remembered Kinneas. It was extremely difficult for him, seriously painful, but he did it."

"I see." Vincent sank his chin deeper into his hands and lowered his eyes to the table once more. "The notes did mention suppressing certain memories. So, forcibly accessing those memories causes the locking spell to break. Interesting." He paused a moment, thinking, then lifted his head and smiled. "I suppose this means I now have two tasks for you. One is to unlock the rest of these sections by helping Mr. Leonhart regain his memories. The other ..." He traced the outline of one of the locked sections with a finger, then planted it directly in the center. "The other," he finished, "is to locate the missing pieces of Mr. Leonhart's soul."

"What?" Cloud barked, stunned. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Vincent smiled at him, although the enjoyment in it made it seem more like a smirk. "It's easier than it sounds, although it will still be quite difficult." Resuming that teacher-like tone, he explained, "While Mr. Leonhart is the core of the spell, the other four victims were also extremely important. Kramer turned their bodies into the candles that powered the fueling spell, but she used their souls as well. According to the notes, the souls of the four victims each received a portion of Leonhart's soul and then were sent into a time spell of their own. This spell is best described as forced reincarnation. While all souls are reincarnated to some degree, they are dissolved and join with others to reform into new souls, as I told you the last time I was here. These four souls, however, are locked into permanence. They will never dissolve, and they will always find new bodies as long as Kramer's spell continues. This ensures that the portions of Mr. Leonhart's soul never break free and return to him."

"Squall."

"What?" Vincent lifted his head in surprise, catching Cloud's stern gaze.

"Call him Squall," Cloud insisted. "Not 'Mr. Leonhart'. He's just a kid, for God's sake."

The hand he held was trembling again, and somewhere in the middle of Vincent's explanation, Squall had closed his empty eyes. Gently, Cloud smoothed long brown bangs away from the kid's face. All this talk of souls had unnerved him, even more so due to Vincent's cold, clinical way of discussing it. And if he was upset, he could only imagine what Squall was feeling right now.

Vincent's eyes were on them again, on their quiet connection, but just as before, he made no comment other than a gentle, "Very well."

"So you're saying," Cloud said, taking up the conversation himself to keep it away from places he would rather not visit, "that the four victims have all been reincarnated into people who are alive right now, and I need to find them and get them to give up the bits of Squall that they have inside of them. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's exactly right."

"Right." Cloud sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "Any idea _how_ I'm going to do that?"

"Some," Vincent replied. When Cloud lifted an eyebrow at him, he smiled slightly and confessed. "But not much. I did say that it would be quite difficult. The souls will all have been born within this town or very nearby it, and although they may travel around the world, they will always eventually return here. This is where home is, so to speak. The spell keeps them close and will discourage them from getting too far away."

"So they're locals. That's still a lot of people."

"Yes, I know. The only other help I can give you is that these souls were reincarnated in their entirety, meaning their personalities will be almost identical to their originals. Ask Mr. - Ask Squall to describe them to you and look for people who match his memories."

Cloud sighed and sat back in his chair. This was a tall order that Vincent was asking from him. Still, if it had to be done, it had to be done. "Any chance these people remember who they were in their previous lives?"

"Very doubtful," the answer came, fouling his mood even further. "Although," Vincent added, "if you find someone you think might be a candidate, I can hypnotize him or her to find out for sure. In fact ..." He trailed off for a moment, tilting his head to one side as he let his eyes rest on Cloud's face. "You have an errant soul inside of you," he commented. "One that connects you to Squall in some way. Do you think you trust me enough to let me hypnotize you now? Perhaps we can find out who it is."

"I think I know who it is," Cloud replied, although the idea intrigued him. At this particular moment, they needed as much information as they could get about the events that had happened and the people who had been involved in them. If they could talk to Almasy, it might prove useful. To Vincent, he said, "I don't mind if you hypnotize me, but I'd like to be aware of what's going on if that's possible. Is it possible?"

"Yes, it's possible. Who do you think it is?"

"The sixth victim. Seifer Almasy."

Vincent hummed in acknowledgement. Tipping his head slightly to one side, he asked, "And how did you reach that conclusion?"

Briefly, Cloud explained the dream he had had and the violent emotions, minus the lust, that had come with it. Just as he was finishing, something heavy fell onto his shoulder. He looked down into a mess of brown hair and at the same time realized that the fingers of the hand he held had gone slack. A brief shock of worry swept through him until he remembered Aerith had warned him that Squall's stamina would probably be very low for the next few days. Even though he had slept parts of last night and most of the morning, the kid was still worn out.

Excusing himself to Vincent, Cloud rose from his chair and somehow maneuvered the half-awake mess of feet and limbs that was Squall back upstairs and into bed. He returned to the kitchen to find Vincent clearing away the breakfast dishes. Together, they finished the job and then wordlessly moved to the living room.

As Cloud sat down on the couch, Vincent knelt down in front of him and remarked, "Well then, time for your lodger to give us some information in payment for his free room and board."

"If you can get him to talk," Cloud warned. "Apparently he was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be."

The taller man lowered his gaze for a moment in thought. After half a minute in which Cloud waited patiently, he asked, "In that case, can I have your permission to take stronger measures?

"What do you mean?"

"A spell," he explained. "A truth spell to be precise. If I cast it on you, you will have no choice but to answer my questions and answer them truthfully. It's an even greater invasion of privacy, so I'd rather not do it, but if I have to ..."

"Go ahead," Cloud told him without hesitation. "If you need to do it, do it. I trust you." When Vincent looked at him with mild surprise, he added, "You saved my life, Vince, and you're working to save Squall's. Why in heaven's name wouldn't I trust you by now?"

Dark eyes dropped to the floor as, for the first time, Vincent seemed to have lost his control on his normal composure. Quietly, he revealed, "In my experience, trust is difficult to come by, especially when someone knows who I am, what I do."

Cloud didn't reply. Instead, he rested his hand on Vincent's shoulder until the other man lifted his gaze to meet his. Their connection was extremely brief, but it was long enough for Cloud to convey how much of a friend he considered the other man to be, even though they had known each other for only a short time. A heartbeat later, the moment had ended and Vincent was explaining how he was going to hypnotize Cloud, what the process involved, and what he should expect.

Even though Cloud had never been hypnotized himself, he knew all about how it worked, or at least how popular agreement said it worked. Considering a magician was the one doing it, he half-expected Vincent to cast some sort of spell on him, using magic to produce quicker and better results, but the man did it the old-fashioned way, using a pen instead of the clichéd pocket-watch. He definitely had doubts about the process, but he ignored them and continued to follow Vincent's instructions until, slowly, his consciousness began to slip and he closed his eyes.

...

_Can you hear me?_

The voice was fuzzy, like listening through a piece of fabric, but yes, he could hear it. "Yes."

_I want you to go back in time to the summer of 1962. Are you there?_

1962\. Yes, he remembered 1962. "Yes."

_Good. Now I want you to tell me your name._

"What the hell business is it of yours?"

His voice had changed. It was angry, challenging. He didn't even really know why. It just felt right to be that way.

_... It isn't any of my business, I suppose, but without your cooperation, we're not going to get very far in this._

"Heh, like I care. Too bad for you that I don't really feel like being cooperative today."

_I see. Are you sure I can't get you to change your mind?_

"Nope. Buzz off, loser."

_I suppose I will have to use the truth spell on you then._

Truth spell. That sounded familiar. And it was bad. "Whoa, whoa, wait up! You wouldn't seriously use that on me, would you?"

_Of course I would._

"Shit! Don't you fucking dare! I will kick your ass if you do that to me!"

_That will be difficult considering you can't move._

He tried to lunge forward towards the voice, strangle its invisible throat, but it was right. He couldn't move a muscle. "Fuck! Shit! Fucking shit!"

_Will you be cooperative for me and answer my questions?_

"Son of a bitch ... yeah. Yeah, I'll talk."

_Thank you. Your name now, please._

"Almasy. Seifer Almasy."

_And how old are you, Mr. Almasy?_

"Seventeen."

_Good. Now, I want you to imagine something for me. You're running. Running hard. Looking for something. I want you to tell me where you're running to. What you're searching for._

At first he had thought the voice was stupid for playing pretend, but as the words flowed over him, he started to see images, feel feelings. He _was_ running. And he was looking for ... "Squall. I'm running to Kramer's, looking for Squall."

_Tell me about Squall._

"He's ... shit, he's a fucking little piece of stuck-up shit is what he is! He's always so emotionless, so cold. Like he's got an icicle stuck up his ass. He's a good fighter though, good with his fists. He and I have been fighting ever since we were kids. I don't even know how it started anymore, but we've been at each other's throats for years. Some days, kicking his ass is the only thing that makes me feel alive. He feels the same way, I know he does. Except that lately ... fuck ..."

_Lately ... ?_

"No, you can't make me talk about it. I'm not gonna talk about it, dammit!"

_... Very well. Why are you looking for him?_

"Because that bitch kidnapped him! It was Kramer! I _saw_ her get into his car so he could take her home. Raijin and Fujin wouldn't believe me, but I told them I was gonna go after him. I was gonna get her to give him and the others back, dammit."

_You saw her get into Squall's car?_

"Yeah. I didn't follow the car all the way back to her house, but that was the last anyone saw of him. I knew it was her. And I was right. Paid for it with my fucking life."

_Tell me about that night._

"Shit, do I have to?"

_Please. It was the day after Squall disappeared, correct?_

"Yeah. At school, the principal made the announcement that Squally-boy was the latest victim, so after school I told my friends what I knew and that if I didn't come back, they should call the cops. Then, that night, I went to Kramer's house. She acted all shocked like she didn't know what I was talking about. Kept telling me to calm down. She even offered me tea or some shit like that, but I knocked it out of her hands and grabbed her around the throat. I didn't want to get violent on her since she had been my kindergarten teacher, too, but it was obvious she wasn't going to admit to anything without me doing something desperate. So I grabbed her and threatened to choke her unless she told me where Squall was. That finally made her crack, and she broke down and told me he was in the basement."

_What did you do?_

"I went down there, of course. I dropped Kramer on the kitchen floor, threw open the basement door, and ran down the stairs. I didn't see anything at first because it's divided into two rooms, but eventually I found the back room and Squall in this weird pillar of light. I didn't see any sign of the other guys, but I had found Squall so I was relieved. For all of about three seconds."

_Three seconds?_

"Yeah, that's how long Kramer let me look at him before she shot me through the chest with a bolt of lightning. I wish I could say that it was quick and that I died instantly, but it wasn't and I didn't. She had fun zapping every nerve in my body, making me scream, making me burn from the inside out. And the whole time I had Squall there right in front of me, hanging there with his eyes closed and his face peaceful, like he was asleep. I hated him for that. Taunting me with that peaceful expression, showing me the oblivion of death that Kramer wouldn't give me for a very, very long time."

_..._

"Ha, don't have anything to say now, do you, you sick fucker? Well, it's your own fault for making me relive it. Suck on that, bastard."

_Thank you, Almasy, for telling me all that. I think that will be enough for today._

"Oh goody. I'm so glad."

_I would like you to come back to the present now. ... Are you back in the present?_

The present? Oh yes, he remembered the present. The anger and bitterness faded from his voice. "Yes."

_And your name is?_

"Cloud Strife."

_Good. Now, I'm going to count to five while you slowly wake up. When I reach five, you will be awake. Ready? ... One ... two ... three ... four ..._

"... five."

Cloud opened his eyes and found himself looking into Vincent's calm face. He remembered everything. What had happened, how he had felt, the things he had said. He remembered, and it made him shiver.

"Shit," he commented, rubbing his eyes. "Kramer was one sick bitch."

"Yes," Vincent replied quietly. He stood and flexed his knees for a moment to get the tight feeling out of them. "And unfortunately, the past tense verb in that sentence is not exactly correct."

Cloud groaned and leaned into the couch, letting his eyes close and his head flop heavily against the back. "Well, at least we're safe from her for now, yes?"

"Inside the house, yes. As for outside the house, as long as I am with you, you should be fine."

He cracked open an eye at that and peered at his friend. "How long are you planning on staying?" he asked. "Surely not until this is all over. Who knows how long that will take?"

Vincent shrugged lightly and replied, "Well, I have two weeks of vacation plus the week that carried over from last year since I never actually take vacations. If we need more time than that, I'm sure I can work something out."

Cloud blinked at him for a moment, realizing for the first time that he had no idea what Vincent did outside of magic. "Where do you work?" he asked. "What do you do?"

"I work for the government," the other man replied, and then, to Cloud's surprise, he winked. "More than that, you don't need to know."

"Oh God," Cloud laughed. "A wizard in the government. Someone help us!"

Vincent just grinned.


	10. Chapter 10

With Squall still sleeping in the guest room and Vincent once again buried in Kramer's notes at the kitchen table, Cloud took a moment to be by himself and collect his thoughts. Alone in the living room, he stretched out on the couch with one arm behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

So. An immortal witch wanted to get her hands on Squall so she could recast her spells on him and ensure the main one kept going. Squall's soul had been torn into pieces and distributed to four other souls which were, presumably, all within the town's official limits. Using only the descriptions of the kids from the sixties, Cloud had to find all of these pieces and get them to Vincent who hopefully by then would have a way to get them out of their current bodies without damaging their host souls and back into Squall's body. All while making sure Kramer didn't kill them.

Right.

Sighing, Cloud lifted a hand and rubbed at an aching spot in the middle of his forehead. This was going to be impossible. Even taking into account that the four not only lived in the area but also had to have been born here, after June of 1962, that still probably left a lot of people. Or perhaps not. Cloud had no idea how many people even lived in the town to say nothing of how many had lived there all their lives. For that, he would need census information. Lots and lots of census information. That he would have to sort through by hand because he didn't have access to a super computer or a tech genius who could write him a slick program to compile all that data for him. Only people in TV and movies had that kind of high-tech, time-saving stuff, and usually they worked for the government or some other large corporation.

An idea occurred to him, causing him to rise to his feet. A few steps brought him to the entrance-way separating the kitchen and the living room. "Hey, Vince," he called, leaning his head and upper body forward a bit to see better, "you said you work for the government, right?"

At the table, Vincent paused in his work to turn and look at him. "Yes, that's right," he replied.

"Would you be able to get me a list of all the people who were born in this town and are still living here?"

The other man considered for a moment, but soon shook his head, dashing Cloud's brief hopes. "I'm afraid not. I don't have the correct clearance for that type of information. I could ask my supervisor for it, but he would want to know why I wanted it."

"And that's not exactly something we want to have get around, yeah, I know," Cloud finished, glumly. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed gently at the destruction of his good idea. "Damn."

"You could probably find information like that at the local library," Vincent suggested after a pause.

"True," Cloud agreed with a frown. He had already thought of that. "But sifting through all of that data is going to take forever. Plus," he added with a meaningful look in the wizard's direction, "I thought you said I can't safely leave here unless you come with me. And I'd rather you be here, working through those notes and keeping an eye on Squall."

Vincent frowned and tapped a pencil idly on the tabletop. "It's true that leaving the confines of the barrier will be dangerous," he mused, half to himself, "but it is also true that you will need to leave in order to find the other parts of Squall's soul, to say nothing of more mundane things like grocery shopping."

Cloud frowned even more severely. He hadn't thought of that. And it was true that the food supply in his fridge was dwindling rapidly what with three people eating what had been bought for one.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the pencil continuing its dance on the tabletop. Little by little, it picked up speed before abruptly coming to a halt, accompanied by a sharp nod of Vincent's head. He had apparently reached a conclusion.

"I'll make you an amulet."

"A what?" Cloud asked, surprised.

"An amulet," Vincent repeated patiently with a very small smile. "I'll weave a protection spell into it so that you can leave the house for short periods of time and Kramer will not be able to detect you with her magic. Now, if she physically sees you, that I can't protect against, but that is a risk you will have to be willing to make."

Cloud's frown, which had disappeared briefly with his shock, immediately returned, albeit with less severity. He liked the idea as a whole, but … "Am I going to have to wear some necklace with a giant crystal or a bunch of Celtic knots or something?"

The other man chuckled, clearly amused by his rather obvious disgust. "No. I can attach the spell to just about anything you would normally wear. In fact," the pencil rose and pointed to the side of Cloud's head, "your ear is pierced. Do you have an earring you like wearing?"

Reflexively, Cloud lifted a hand and tugged slightly on his earlobe. True, he had pierced his ear in high school, but he hadn't worn earrings regularly since he had gotten a job. Part of that being-an-adult thing. Mentally, he scanned his collection of jewelry for something that might fit. One of his silver studs would probably work best, simple and unobtrusive, and yet ... A vicious smirk crept into his lips as he thought of one particular piece. Now wouldn't _that_ be ironic?

"One minute," he informed his friend before turning and heading off to the stairs.

Once in his room, it took him a minute to find the shoebox where he had stashed all his old jewelry and then another minute of searching once he had dumped the whole thing out on his dresser. He had a surprising amount of the stuff thanks to two certain female friends who liked to view every gift-giving occasion as an opportunity to give him more. Earrings, rings, pins, and the occasional choker skidded left and right across the wood as he pawed through all the metal. When he finally found the object he sought, he lifted it up in the palm of his hand with a grin of triumph. This earring was silver, too, but it was so much more than a smooth, round ball. Cloud ran his thumb over the grooved surface fondly.

Tifa had bought it for him as a graduation present. He had threatened to throw the box at her head - _another_  
jewelry box, goddammit Tifa?! - until he had opened it and seen the alert ears and the proud muzzle. He would never admit it to her, but it was still his favorite present of all time. That summer he had worn it nearly every day. But as time had passed and he had grown older, it had seen more and more time in the box. At this point, it had been years since he had worn it. It was well past time to bring it out again.

And considering Squall's pendant, damn if it didn't fit perfectly.

His face almost hurting from the width of his grin, Cloud closed his fist around the earring, dumped the small mound of jewelry back in the box, and left his room.

Squall was waiting for him in the hall, standing partly in the doorway of the guest room. The kid looked rumpled from his nap but definitely awake. His eyes darted in Cloud's direction at the older man's footsteps, and he smiled ever so slightly in Cloud's general direction. It kindled a soft warmth in Cloud's chest that tempered his fierce amusement.

"Hey kid," Cloud greeted him. "You feeling better?"

Squall merely tipped his head to one side in what could have been an affirmative and lifted his hand to place it against the wall. Carefully, he began moving to the stairs. Watching him closely, Cloud let the younger man shuffle to the top of the stairs and then began to verbally guide his steps, letting him maintain as much of his independence and dignity as possible while still staying close enough to react should Squall stumble. It was slow-going, but they made it down without incident. At the bottom, the kid turned his head and gave Cloud a proud smirk as if to say that it had been nothing to worry about.

"Well now, look at you," Cloud teased him. "Guess you don't need me around anymore." He began wandering towards the kitchen and called over his shoulder, "Make yourself at home, kid. Just don't steal my motorcycle." Before he lost sight of him, he watched as Squall rolled his blind eyes at him, an expression of weary annoyance on his young face. Cloud had to choke down his laughter.

Vincent was waiting for him with a bemused smile. "Well?" he asked as Cloud approached.

Triumphantly, Cloud laid the earring down on the table in front of the other. Slowly, one of Vincent's dark eyebrows crawled up his forehead into his hairline. He turned his eyes to Cloud, surprise and incredulity in his face.

Cloud just shrugged one shoulder. "You've heard of fighting fire with fire, yes?" He gestured to the wolf head that stared up at the pair of them. "This is fighting wolves with wolves." Behind him, he heard Squall slowly make his way into the room.

"I see," Vincent replied with a small chuckled. "As you wish."

"How long will it take you to put that protection spell on it?"

"Not long. But I'd rather not do it today. I'm still recovering from my trip here."

Cloud nodded, and as he did so, Squall's hand landed lightly in the center of his back. A small shiver threatened to ripple down his spine, but Cloud suppressed it quickly. "That's fine," he said to Vincent, ignoring the sensation of Squall's body behind him to continue the conversation. "The library probably won't be open much longer today anyw- .. Hey!"

His whole body had pitched forward as that simple touch on his back suddenly turned into a harsh shove. Cloud whipped his head around in time to catch a glimpse of a wicked smirk on Squall's face before the kid disappeared into the living room, dragging a hand along the wall to guide him.

"Damn brat," Cloud growled, but he couldn't help smiling as well. He supposed he deserved that for his teasing in the hallway. More than that, to see such energy and spunk in his previously-catatonic charge made Cloud's heart sing. Real-Squall had been little more than a scared child for the past day. That part-vindictive, part-playful shove hinted at the personality of Dream-Squall and gave Cloud new hope that the two would eventually reunite again.

Vincent was quietly laughing at him, so Cloud gave him a half-hearted glower. "That reminds me," he noted, "you haven't told me yet how you managed to get down here so fast."

Vincent tipped his dark head at him in mild surprise. "Didn't you see it when you came in last night?" he asked. "I parked it in your garage."

"See what?" Cloud countered. The only vehicle in that garage had been his own; he was certain of it.

"My broom."

Cloud blinked, then blinked again, then scoffed. Loudly. "You have got to be kidding me! A broom?"

"Well," Vincent clarified with a small smirk, "it's a little different from what you're thinking of, I have to admit. But the concept is the same. Come," he said, rising from his chair, "I'll show you."

It definitely wasn't a broom considering no one would ever be able to use it for cleaning, but, as Vincent had said, the idea behind it was basically the same as the original. It was a stick with a seat and handles, used by the magically-inclined for flying. To Cloud, it looked like a bicycle without the wheels, made from a similar light-weight aluminum and obviously streamlined for better wind-resistance.

"How fast does it go?" Cloud asked, fascinated by the similarities he noticed between the "broom" and his own beloved bike.

"It depends on the person riding it," Vincent answered with clear amusement. "I can push mine to between 350 and 400 miles an hour, but to go that fast, I have to expend just as much energy protecting myself from possible obstacles as I do to power the broom itself."

"Obstacles? You mean like planes?"

"Low-flying planes, birds, anything that would be in the air that I could crash into. As I travel, I send out a spell that gently pushes anything that would be in my way out of it before I can get there."

"Which takes up a lot of energy," Cloud finished, standing up straight from his examination and giving his friend a smile. "Now I see why you were so wiped out last night."

"Yes. Putting up the barrier was trivial compared to the trip to get here." He smiled, clearly not complaining.

"Well," Cloud said, moving towards the house, "thanks, Vincent. For coming in the first place and for satisfying my curiosity. That is the coolest broom I've ever seen." He grinned and added, "I'd ask for a ride, but it doesn't look like that thing was built for two."

"No," Vincent laughed as he came along with him to the door. "It most definitely wasn't."

"Might be room for a cat, though."

He had meant it to be teasing, but Vincent surprised him by replying, "I've considered it. Haven't found the right one yet."

"Now I _know_ you're kidding me."

The wizard just smiled.

Back inside, Vincent returned to his examination of Kramer's notes while Cloud joined Squall in the living room. The kid was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing with a barely-there expression. At Cloud's approach, however, he turned his head just enough to dispel any fear that his hypnotism of the previous evening had returned, and when the other end of the couch dipped as Cloud sat with him, the hint of a smile pulled up the corners of his lips.

"So, what do you want to do today, kid?" Cloud asked him. He waited a beat, then continued, "Watch TV all day? Sounds like a plan." He grabbed the remote from where it had fallen to the floor and flipped on the set. A few clicks brought up ESPN and three ex-athletes debating the merits of various college football players. More than ready for a few hours of doing absolutely nothing, Cloud rested his arm along the back of the couch and purposely let his fingers fall gently on Squall's shoulder.

At Cloud's touch, Squall relaxed a little further into the couch. For a brief moment, Cloud thought he was going to curl up against him like he had the night before in the diner, but Squall simply returned to staring at nothing, his relaxed weight pressing his back against the other man's fingertips and that ghost of a smile still on his face. Mixed emotions fought inside Cloud's gut: he was happy, of course, to see the kid improving and proud of him for showing strength and bravery in what was frankly a terrifying situation, and yet something selfish inside him really liked that feeling of being needed, of protecting the one he loved.

_Idiot_ , Cloud thought to himself, stomping down on the hurt with mental combat boots. _You're a freaking idiot_. He tore his eyes away from that striking profile and instead focused on footage of one bulky teenager slamming another, slightly-less-bulky teenager into the turf. _Of course, that's not exactly new information_.

Suppressing a sigh, Cloud resolved to turn off his brain and just forget it all for at least two hours.

Almost four hours later, Squall was asleep again, and Vincent had given up on the notes for the day, predicting the loss of his cranial matter through liquidation if he didn't stop and give himself a break. The sports on the TV had been replaced with Food Network at the other man's request; apparently, Cloud mused, wizards enjoyed watching people cook. He almost asked his guest if the techniques on the shows helped him when he brewed his potions, but he thought better of it at the last second. No point in angering the one who was helping him with Squall, and certainly not when doing so might get him turned into a frog or something.

Dinner was pizza, delivered of course, and as they ate and drank the last of Cloud's beer, Vincent shared the little he had learned from the notes. Ninety percent of it went over Cloud's head, but he gathered that his friend had at least made some progress, albeit only a bit. When Squall woke up, he was also offered pizza - but no beer. Aerith would have killed him - and an even more watered-down version of Vincent's findings. Cloud had no idea whether the kid understood any of the mumbo jumbo that he was being told, but Squall always appeared to be politely listening so Cloud felt compelled to talk.

The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion: TV, relaxation, and every so often a few words of conversation. To Cloud, it was perfect. The silent companionship of the other two men was so different from the lively chatter he was used to when in the company of his other friends. It was definitely something he could get used to. No, it was something he wanted. Him and Squall, quietly sitting together as the night darkened. He didn't want anything else. Just this.

Eventually, the hour grew late enough that Cloud felt compelled to turn off the television. When he turned to Vincent, he could clearly see the fatigue in the other man's face; he had a feeling his own looked very similar. "Time to turn in," he stated, putting down the remote. "Vince, you can have my room since Squall is in the guest room. I'll take the couch down here."

Dark eyes blinked at him, their owner clearly surprised by what Cloud had considered to be an obvious offer. "No, that's not necessary," Vincent argued, shaking his head. "I am fine with the couch."

Even knowing as little as he did about the other man, he had expected that response and was prepared to counter it. "No, you're my guest, and not only that, you're doing me a huge favor by being here. You get the bed."

He suddenly felt the touch of Squall's hand on his back, a soft yet insistent pressure between his shoulder-blades, but he ignored it for the moment. He didn't think he was about to get shoved again, and his focus on Vincent helped immensely with the traitorous shivers that wanted to take him over. "I think Aerith said she has an airbed or something along those lines. If I ask, she'll probably let me borrow it, although I'll have to come up with a story to explain why I need it."

"If I intend on staying until this matter is resolved, we will need a story regardless."

"True enough. Well, she's planning on coming over to check on Squall on Monday, so until then, you get my bed and I'll sleep here."

"I cannot accept that. It has never been my intention to inconvenience you."

"Tough. My house, my rules. Besides, it's not that big a -"

He stopped, surprised, as a pair of arms encircled him from behind and the weight of a forehead pressed against the back of his right shoulder. Squall was hugging him. And unlike the majority of their contact over the past day and a half, there was no fear or exhaustion in the smaller body behind him. The gentle pressure against Cloud's back was calm, steady, and so very warm. It sucked all the moisture from his mouth in about half a heartbeat.

Vincent chuckled. "I think our dilemma has been solved for us," he commented quietly. "Squall seems quite fond of you." When Cloud sent him a silent appeal for help with his eyes, the other man not only ignored it but actually made the situation worse by adding, "It's probably a good idea for him to have company at night. Just in case something happens."

Cloud swallowed with extreme difficulty and tried one final time to get himself out of this. "Shouldn't you be with him, then? Since you're the one with all the knowledge of what's going on and how to fight it."

"Ah, but I'm just a stranger to him," Vincent countered with a goddamn _twinkle_ in his eye. "The more comfortable he is, the better he will sleep, and he's very comfortable with you. The bond you two have formed has been very clear from the beginning. If anything happens that requires my expertise, I will be just down the hall. I'm sure you can handle anything else much more effectively than I could."

And that, apparently, was the end of the discussion. Smoothly rising from his chair, Vincent fetched his small overnight bag and politely nodded to both of them. "Good night, Cloud, Squall. I will see you both in the morning." He smiled at them one final time, Cloud still trapped within a surprisingly strong grip, and then turned and left the room. Cloud heard his footsteps ascend the stairs, walk the short trip down the hall, and enter the guestroom, the door of which softly closed.

Left alone with Squall, Cloud closed his eyes and slowly inhaled and exhaled. Okay, he could do this. He just had to remember that he was the kid's caregiver and Squall was his patient. Yes, he harbored feelings of attraction for the young body that still covered what felt like every inch of his back, but those could be bottled and held in. This Squall wasn't whole. This Squall wasn't really Squall. So even though this body wanted to hold him and be with him all the time, Cloud had to remember that this body wasn't the one he wanted. He wanted his Squall, complete with the attitude and the anger and the begrudging smiles, and until he could have what he wanted, he wouldn't settle for anything else just because it was present and willing.

One more slow breath, and Cloud was ready. He gently pried apart the arms that were still encircling him and rose from the couch with the kid's hands in his. "All right, kid," he said with a gentle smile, his resolve firm. "Time for bed."

Squall gave him a tired smile and slow-blinked his blind eyes in apparent approval.

They had barely entered the bedroom when Cloud realized how quickly his new resolve would be tested. Squall only owned one shirt and one pair of pants, and he had been wearing them since his discharge from the hospital the previous day. Frowning heavily, Cloud positioned his smaller companion in front of him and assessed his body type.

"You," he announced, "are too skinny to wear my clothes. The height isn't too bad, but anything I loan you is going to look like you're swimming in it." He sighed and dove into his drawers for a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants anyway. "I'll have to go shopping tomorrow as soon as Vincent gets that amulet thing ready."

Squall just looked in his direction blankly, patiently waiting for Cloud to give him more direction. It came a moment later, after a thick swallow and a quick breath through the nose.

"Take your clothes off. You can wear my stuff to bed."

Without any hesitation, Squall began to comply, slowly removing his arms from his shirt and then trying to lift the fabric over his head. It looked to Cloud like he might get stuck or at the very least lose his balance and topple over, so he leapt in and helped the shirt off the rest of the way. The kid's hands then began moving towards his jeans, but Cloud grabbed them and forced them into his loaner t-shirt instead. He had a 'Squall is my patient' mantra going in his head, and so far it was doing a good job of helping him ignore the kid's pale skin and slender muscles, but he was sure as hell not going to allow a completely naked Squall to stand in front of him, not when he could avoid it.

Once the slightly-too-large shirt hid all of Squall's top from view, Cloud allowed the kid to continue undressing his bottom while he prepped a pair of boxers and the sweatpants. Kneeling at the kid's feet, Cloud talked his patient through stepping out of his old clothes and into the new ones, one foot at a time, one hand on his shoulder for balance, all the time never looking higher than the kid's ankles. It took longer than it would have with a seeing patient, but eventually Squall stood by the bed, looking only slightly child-like in a baggy shirt and pants that threatened to slip off his hips.

"Okay," Cloud sighed, not sure whether he was commenting to his companion or to himself. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Squall just sat down on the bed and looked up at him expectantly.

"Right. Me. Hold on a minute."

A few minutes later, Cloud had also changed into night clothes and had made Squall stand up again so they could go brush their teeth. As he was positioning Squall over the sink so the kid could spit without making a mess, Cloud noticed the chain of the lion pendant necklace against the back of the kid's neck near his hairline. He grimaced slightly, remembering the state in which he had left Dream-Squall: scared and upset. He owed the kid another visit and a nice long explanation of everything they had discovered.

When he asked Real-Squall for the pendant, the kid had immediately bowed his head in indication that Cloud should remove the necklace for himself. Cloud took it with a murmured word of thanks and a quick ruffle of messy brown hair. Tomorrow, they would have to figure out how to get Squall a shower. _That_ was going to need a much stronger mantra.

Unsurprisingly, Squall wasn't content with simply lying on one side of the bed while Cloud took the other. He would accept nothing less than his head on Cloud's shoulder and his arm wrapped around Cloud's chest, his knees pulled up slightly and resting against Cloud's thigh. Content to give the kid what he wanted, Cloud held the smaller body to him, rested his cheek against the other's head, and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't even need his mantra for this. Squall may not have been radiating fear anymore, but he clearly wanted Cloud's comfort and protection. Cloud was more than willing to give it to him.

The darkness covered them in quiet contentment, yet Cloud wasn't ready for sleep. His body had come to rest, but his mind was still active. Slowly, the emptiness of the ceiling became an image of the puzzle that was Squall's soul. Closing his eyes didn't help; it just moved its location to the back of his eyelids. Those four gaping voids loomed ominously at him, promising herculean tasks he didn't even want to contemplate yet, but they were not what drew his eye and his anxiety. Instead, his imagination focused on those electric storms that flickered and danced across three-quarters of the surface area of Squall's soul. Each of those clusters of lightning represented a grueling trial of intense pain for Dream-Squall and agony for Cloud who could do nothing but watch.

Subconsciously, Cloud drew the body he held a little closer to him. They had known from the beginning that they would have to do this four times. No one had hoped for even a second that once would be enough. But now that they had done it once, now that Cloud had seen the amount of pain Squall had to endure, he didn't know how he was going to be able to live through it once more much less three more times. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt in ways he hadn't known were possible.

As these thoughts ran wild in Cloud's head and threatened to bring him to tears, Squall shifted slightly in his sleep, bringing a hand up to lie flat against Cloud's chest. His fingertips brushed the lion pendant that lay there, and he instinctively reached out for it, pulling until most of the metal lay beneath Squall's fingers. The action brought a smile to Cloud's lips, and he lifted his free hand to rest lightly over Squall's. Deliberately, he forced his mind's eye to shut down, focusing instead on Squall's steady breathing and the warmth of the fingers beneath his.

It would be all right. It was all going to be all right. He had said it, to himself and to Squall many times. In this moment, he knew it to be true.

Cloud closed his eyes and, Squall securely in his arms, allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Squall lay on his back with his hands behind his head, guarded eyes staring up at the clouded sky. His face had shown barely any expression since Cloud had arrived, a marked difference from his last visit. Cloud assumed it meant that the kid was embarrassed about his previous emotional behavior and had adopted this air of cool indifference to make up for it. Whatever the reason was Cloud didn't care; as long as Squall was talking to him again.

"So how are you going to find Irvine?"

"Start with the census records. After that ..." Cloud shrugged and confessed, "I don't know. Pray, maybe."

Squall smirked at him, the smallest bit of amusement shining in the corner of his eyes. "That sounds like a winning strategy. I'm sure you won't have any trouble with that one."

"Yeah, well, if you have any better ideas, I'm open to suggestions."

Cloud gazed down at Squall from his sitting position next to him and watched as the young man's eyes slid out of focus in thought. "I'm afraid I don't," he admitted after a moment. "Just look for a loner who flirts with every girl in sight but won't commit to any of them."

"What if he's married?" Cloud asked.

"He won't be," Squall replied confidently. "Not unless he found ... her."

The slight pause caught Cloud's attention. It looked like the attempt to remember hadn't brought Squall any pain, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. "How's your memory?" he asked. "Are you still hitting those blank walls?"

"Yeah," the other answered with a frown. "I can get smaller, less important memories if I try - like my mom's birthday or my sister's favorite stuffed animal. They hurt to go after them, but I can pry them free without too much trouble. But every time I try to think about Irvine's girl or the other two ..." He shook his head slightly, his expression smoothing out with a resigned sigh. "It's blank. It's all just ... blank. Like a big hole in my head."

It was Cloud's turn to frown as the image Squall had described evoked another one. He didn't like where this was going. "Like an empty, black void?" he queried carefully.

Curious gray eyes shifted to look up at him. One skinny shoulder moved slightly in an almost-unnoticeable shrug. "Yeah, maybe."

Annoyed, Cloud blew out a heavy breath and lifted his gaze to the clouds overhead. Great.

A soft nudge of elbow to his thigh brought his eyes back down again. Squall's expression was shuttered, hiding nearly all of his worry from sight. "What?"

"It's nothing," Cloud assured him. "Just that I have a feeling you won't be able to remember anything else until I find Irvine."

The worry fell away, replaced by a kind of quiet acceptance. "Hn."

The short nasal sound was hardly a response; Cloud barely heard it. Yet it ignited a warm feeling of amusement in the center of his chest, much like the first time the kid had unleashed his biting "Whatever" on him. That sound was classic Squall. It was a sound that the soul inside him recognized.

Cloud swallowed and looked away again. He had talked a _ridiculous_ amount that night, and yet he hadn't revealed everything he could have. The identity of his body's second inhabitant remained a secret from the young man next to him. Cloud wanted to believe that it was because the conversation simply hadn't gone in that direction. Explaining what they had learned about the spell and how they were going to try to counteract it didn't _need_ to include the fact that Vincent had hypnotized him, and knowing who was in there wasn't going to help them in any particular way. Unfortunately, as true as that was, Cloud knew it wasn't the real reason he had kept his mouth shut on that subject.

Simply put, Cloud didn't want to tell Squall about Almasy. The two of them may not have been the best of friends or even been civil to each other most of the time, but they had a history. A rather explosive one it sounded like. And Cloud was jealous of it. It was stupid, it was childish, and he didn't freaking care. If Squall knew that someone he used to know was so close by, it might change the dynamic of their relationship. Cloud didn't want that. When Squall looked at him, he wanted the younger man to see Cloud and only Cloud. No one else.

A thick silence had grown between them while Cloud sorted through his thoughts. Squall seemed to have no more to say, and Cloud had talked enough to last him a week. Idly, a hand lifted to the pendant around his neck. He didn't want to leave, but he had undoubtedly been there a long time already. It was probably time to go.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cloud saw a flash of concerned gray, but by the time he had turned his head to follow it, Squall was staring up at the sky again. He had managed to wipe all emotion from his young face, leaving only a small crease between his brows as an echo of the expression of which Cloud had nearly caught a glimpse.

"Guess you won't be coming back for a while then, huh?" When Cloud made no reply other than a gentle lift of one eyebrow, Squall added, "No point if I can't remember anything useful."

And Cloud suddenly realized what it was he had almost seen: loneliness and pain. Squall didn't think Cloud had any reason to visit him if they weren't trying to tear his memories from his head. The kid didn't realize that Cloud wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see Cloud, and for some reason, he thought that desire was something to be ashamed of, something to hide. Luckily for Squall, Cloud knew enough about pride and closing off emotions to hear what hadn't been said.

He also knew how to handle stubborn, prideful idiots without making them defensive, considering he was one. "Nah, I'll be back to keep you updated on what I find and what Vincent figures out. If I have to suffer through all this weird voodoo crap, so do you."

Squall smirked, informing Cloud that his mood had improved, and huffed out a quiet, "Whatever," confirming it. He pulled his left hand out from behind his head and held it out to Cloud, palm up. As Cloud pulled the chain from around his neck and laid the pendant in that waiting hand, the sharpness of the other's face finally softened enough for Cloud to see the person behind the mask, the hint of weakness behind the facade of cold indifference.

"See you," Squall smiled.

"See you, kid," Cloud replied. And then, because if he didn't he was going to embarrass one or both of them, he added, "You behave while I'm gone."

The kid rolled his eyes at him, but he kept smiling, even as Cloud let the chain slip through his fingers.

Sunday was a mess of domestic nonsense that made Cloud feel like he was a freaking housewife. He cooked breakfast for the household, did the clean up, and then sat down to make a grocery list. Vincent had finished magicking up his earring by then, so he put Squall down for his first of probably many naps before heading off to the store to buy more food.

As he put in the wolf earring, Cloud couldn't help but rattle off to Vincent in a high-pitched nasally voice, "His bedtime is 7:30. He gets one glass of water and at max two stories. The pediatrician's number is on the fridge, right next to poison control's. Feel free to eat anything in the freezer. I'll try to be home by ten, but I might be a little late." Vincent had started out staring at Cloud like he was crazy, but by the end of his little speech, the other man was laughing.

"Don't worry, ma'am, I'll take good care of him."

"I know you will, sweetie," Cloud replied, patting Vincent gently on the shoulder. "Doris highly recommended you."

He left the house, Vincent still laughing behind him.

When he got back from shopping, his saddlebags bulging with food, Vincent paused in his continued research to help Cloud put things away. Lunch preparations were next, and waking Squall up so he could eat, and then cleanup from lunch, and by God, Cloud just wanted to sit down with a beer and put his aching feet up for a while, but he _couldn't_ because he had to go back out and shop some more because Squall didn't have any clothes. If his mother had been alive, he would have called her and apologized for all the times he was ungrateful to her because damn this was hard and he had only been doing it for half a day.

"You could order some things online," Vincent suggested gently when Cloud bitched like hell to him about it.

"Yeah," he replied, "but Squall needs new clothes now, and I don't want to pay for overnight shipping." He frowned at his sandwich as if it had offended him. "I'll go back out. I won't be happy about it, but I'll go."

Next to him, Squall slid his left hand sideways across the table until it bumped up against Cloud's right arm. Hardly even thinking about it, Cloud picked the kid's hand up with his left and placed it on his arm just below the curve of his elbow, covering the smaller fingers with his own once it was settled.

"And once I get back," he continued a little less harshly, "we'll get you cleaned up and in some new clothes, and then I am going to _sit down_ for the rest of the night."

Thankfully, buying clothes for Squall was a fairly easy task. Cloud picked up several solid color T-shirts, a few pairs of sweatpants, a 6-pack of underwear and another 6-pack of socks, and a pair of sneakers, all in one size smaller than he would buy for himself. The kid could wear too-big sweatshirts and sweaters from Cloud's wardrobe, but at least now he would have the basics in a size that fit. He refused to think about the amount of money he was spending on all this extra stuff and just handed his credit card to the woman at the register. He would just have to forego Christmas presents this year. The girls would understand.

When he returned home, Squall was waiting for him, sitting at the table as if watching Vincent work. He laid a hand on that thin shoulder, bringing blank gray eyes up to meet his, and said, "Okay, kid, time to go upstairs and get you clean."

He didn't know whether it was because it was daytime and not night or because he was just so damn tired from being on the go since breakfast, but Cloud found himself really not caring that he was about to get Squall naked. He followed the kid up the stairs, bag of new clothes slung over his shoulder, and then pushed forward into the bathroom to get the hot water running. Squall had stopped in the middle of the bedroom, waiting for instruction, so he gently helped him out of his too-big shirt and sweatpants and led him into the bathroom in just a borrowed pair of boxers.

"Even though you're pretty steady on your feet, I still think we're going to go with a bath because that way I can help you more," Cloud said, speaking his thoughts out loud for Squall's benefit. "Luckily for you, I have one of those removable shower heads so we can actually get the shampoo out of your hair without forcing you to dunk yourself." He leaned down, tested the water, and, finding it at a decent temperature, pushed up the lever to stopper the tub.

Once the water had risen enough, Cloud shut the water off, helped Squall out of the boxers, and then steadied him as the kid stepped into the bath and sank down to sit on the tub floor. He made a point to watch the other's ankles as he did so and then hop his gaze up and to the kid's face, thereby bypassing any part of the anatomy that he really didn't want to see right now. Cloud wasn't stupid. He was currently tired, but he had a good memory and he didn't want certain images getting into his brain until he was good and ready for them.

With Squall situated, Cloud sank down to the bathroom floor himself and had to stifle a groan at how good it felt to get off his feet. Seriously, his mother had been a saint, and he had no idea how she had put up with him for so many years. Squall was staring at him expectantly, so he plucked the soap from its dish, lifted Squall's hand from the water, and dropped the soap into it to see if the kid would be able to wash himself. He was, much to Cloud's relief.

The shampoo, however, proved to be too much for Squall's coordination-impaired hands, so Cloud took over that task for him. It was surprisingly soothing, he found, massaging the soap across Squall's head and then gently washing it out again with the shower head. The action kindled that protective feeling within him again, and he couldn't help but smile as he helped Squall out of the tub and covered him in two big towels, one wrapped around his body and one covering his head. He tried to help with the drying off process, but the kid batted his hands away, clearing wanting to do this part himself. Amused, Cloud left him to it and went back into the bedroom to start cutting tags off of clothes.

Ten minutes later, Squall was clean, combed, and dressed in properly-sized attire. The fear of the past day and a half had disappeared, leaving a sense of determination with just a hint of swagger. If not for the blank stare in his eyes, he could have passed for a teen model, and even with it, Cloud was sure he would turn heads if they went out. The kid looked amazing, and Cloud wasn't sure which he felt more of: love for this stubborn little fighter in front of him or pride in himself for managing to bring all of that out without losing his mind.

The rest of the evening went exactly how Cloud had wanted it to go: feet up, leftovers, conversation and TV, and no more freaking housework. Vincent once again gave up on the notes early in the evening, this time managing to give himself a bad headache before he stopped, so he spent an hour or so reclined on the couch with an ice pack on his head. Once he had recovered, he and Cloud came up with a story for his presence. Vincent would pretend to be the son of one of Cloud's mother's old college friends who had come into town on a visit and had stayed to assist with Squall. It was as good a lie as any, and Cloud knew Aerith would accept it without too much additional prodding.

The night and Aerith's visit in the morning both passed without incident. Real-Squall once again preferred Cloud's chest to his own pillow but otherwise behaved himself. Dream-Squall seemed happy to see him but had nothing to talk about, so Cloud entertained him with a repeat of his "I am not a housewife" rant that he had given to Vincent. Aerith took Vincent's presence in stride, going so far as to praise Cloud for accepting help when offered. The praise continued when she took Squall's vitals and saw how he had continued to improve in Cloud's care. She even joked that she expected for "Johnny" to have made a complete recovery by the next time she came to check on him. Cloud told her he would try.

She laughed, not realizing that he was completely serious.

Once Aerith had left, Cloud made sure everyone had a quick lunch and then, leaving Squall in Vincent's care, headed out to the library to start his search for Irvine Kinneas. He found an available computer without any trouble and, once seated at it, brought up the US Census website as a starting point. Bold font proclaiming that the records were "confidential for 72 years" killed that lead immediately. Ancestry sites also were no help since they wanted a last name and only had birth records anyway. That left him with whatever he could get locally from the library itself. Cloud sighed and then dove into birth records from the local papers.

He came up for air almost immediately. There were three hospitals in the general area, and the sheer number of babies born in one year alone was enough to make him want to tear his hair out. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to compile a list of the babies born for the past fifty years much less cross-reference it with a list of the current population. This task was way beyond his layman skill set.

Grimly, Cloud rose to his feet and went to look for the librarian Viola. He doubted she would be able to help him very much, but if she could whittle the sheer amount of data down even a little, it would be a monumental asset. Hopefully, she wouldn't ask why he wanted to know how many children born after 1962 still lived in the area, but she had bought his story of being a student before. He could just use it again and cross his fingers a little harder.

He found her at the front desk, as he expected, but as he approached, he noticed that she was being harassed by a tall man in a long jacket, jeans, and a driving cap. The man was leaning over the checkout desk, grinning widely at her, while she stood stiffly, trying not to make it obvious that she wanted nothing to do with him. Cloud frowned and picked up his pace a little. He hadn't known Viola long, knew pretty much nothing about her really other than she was helpful with his research, but he didn't like the thought of anyone bothering her like that.

"Come on, darling," the guy wheedled as Cloud got within earshot. "It's just lunch. I haven't seen you in years."

"I said no," Viola replied crisply. "Now please leave. I am working."

"And you're looking so beautiful as you do it. You truly make this lonely heart of mine sing with happiness."

Her eyes narrowed sharply at his ridiculous lines, and she hissed at him, "If you do not leave immediately, I will call the authorities and have you escorted from the premises."

As she said this, Cloud finally reached them and, stepping up just a bit closer to the man than necessary, asked in a low tone, "Do you need assistance, Miss Quinn?"

The man jumped a little and turned to look at him, slightly downwards as he was a bit taller. This close up, Cloud could see that he looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His brown hair had a fine sprinkling of gray throughout, and the beginnings of lines were appearing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Cloud couldn't actually see those eyes, however. The guy was wearing sunglasses. Inside.

His arrival had provided enough distraction for Viola to recover herself. Usual strict demeanor in place, she gave Cloud a prim smile and replied, "Thank you, but I am fine. This gentleman was just leaving."

Her statement brought the man's eyes back to her, and he protested, "'Gentleman'? Oh, Viola, how can you be so formal? You used to call me Mikey, remember?"

"That was when we were children," the proper librarian replied. "You may not have matured since then, but I have. Now, as I said before, I am working." She turned fully to Cloud, effectively shutting the other man down, and asked, "Was there something I could help you with, Mr. Strife?"

Cloud blinked briefly, surprised and impressed that the woman had remembered his name, but he quickly recovered. Nodding, he began to explain his current task, when the taller man, who had not moved, interrupted them.

"Strife? Cloud Strife?"

Even more surprised, Cloud turned his head to look at him. He could only see part of the man's expression due to the sunglasses, but it appeared to be intrigued and mildly excited. Frowning, he hesitantly said, "Yeah, that's me. Do I know you?"

A bright smile exploded across the stranger's face. "No," he replied, "and I don't know you. But it's still a pretty amazing coincidence for us to meet here." And he took off his sunglasses.

Cloud had scowled at the man's words and begun to return his attention to Viola, but the sight of the man's complete face stopped him in his tracks. He knew that face, those sparkling blue eyes. He had seen them on websites, attached to articles, blog posts, and one particular book with a subject that interested him very much.

"Mikey .... Michael Innis?"

"That's me," Innis grinned. He stuck out his hand for Cloud to shake. "Nice to meet you in the flesh, Cloud. Are you still researching the Kramer case?"

"Um, yeah," Cloud managed, a little shell-shocked by the abrupt turn this encounter had taken. "Yeah, I am." He took Innis's hand and had his own heartily shaken.

"Awesome! That case has been my favorite since I was a kid." He leaned in a little closer as if Cloud were his closest friend, worthy of hearing his most precious secrets. "When I was in grade school, my friends and I used to go out to the McKensey's house and dig up their backyard, looking for skeletons. Old Mary McKensey used to yell at us so loud! Called us hooligans and other things no lady should ever say." He leaned back again and laughed, continuing, "Of course, we knew that the cops had already dug up every inch of that yard looking for the missing kids, but _we_  
were going to be the ones who actually found them. Get our names in the paper, become famous. We never did, of course."

"Right," Cloud said, feeling overwhelmed by the flow of words. But then, his brain caught up, and he asked, "Wait, does that mean you grew up here?"

Innis nodded. "Down on Ridge Street. Viola and I went to school together, didn't we, Vi -" He turned, but the librarian had used the opportunity to disappear. Cloud smirked a little to himself; he didn't blame her. Innis just shrugged and turned back. "Hey!" he cried, an idea striking him. "Why don't you join me for lunch? You can tell me all about your research."

"I've actually already eaten -"

"Nonsense!" Innis interrupted, and Cloud suddenly found himself being led to the exit by the taller man, a large hand wrapped around his elbow and steering. "You can always have a beer or something while I eat. And I've lost my lunch date anyway. We'll just go across the street. You don't even need to drive."

And that was how Cloud found himself at the little local brew pub in town, sipping on a beer, and listening to semi-famous reporter Michael Innis rattle on about the story he had just finished up in Washington DC. The man had amazing charisma and a personality that filled up several rooms. He smiled at every waitress in the place and a few of the waiters as well, and Cloud could see every one of them perk up and smile back as if his eyes were only on them. It was extremely amusing, although Cloud could see how someone who knew him well, like Viola, would find it exasperating.

"So," Innis finally said after he had given his sandwich order and sent the giggling waitress off with a winning smile, "what school do you go to, Cloud?"

Cloud sipped his beer to buy him time to think. He hadn't really fleshed this story out, and since he had already gotten the information that he wanted from Innis, he didn't see the need to continue it and trap himself in poorly thought out lies. "I don't," he replied, setting down his glass. "I actually graduated a while ago. And I didn't graduate in journalism."

To his surprise, Innis just smiled. "I thought not. You are clearly too old to be an undergraduate, and a grad student would have better connections than a link on a web page. So, what's your interest in the Kramer case?"

There was a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye, and Cloud found himself smiling because of it. "I bought the house," he stated simply.

Innis's eyes lit up instantly. "You bought the McKensey house?" he echoed, but then his face fell into a sudden sadness, "Did they die?"

"No," Cloud reassured him. "Just moved to Florida."

That brought the excitement back into the other's face. "Oh! Good for them. They deserve it, even if Mary did hate my guts when I was younger." He crossed his arms on the table and leaned over them eagerly. "Did you find anything interesting inside?"

_You have no idea_ , Cloud thought to himself, but he wasn't about to share that with Innis. The man would think he was insane. So he shook his head instead. "Just a lot of really awful wallpaper."

Innis threw back his head and laughed.

They continued to chat about the case as Innis ate his lunch. The older man had several crazy conspiracy theories about what had happened to the missing kids, all of which he fully admitted were bonkers but fun to consider. Several of them involved a secret mastermind who used Kramer and then killed her in prison after she had gotten caught. Cloud mostly held his tongue and played dumb through all of them, only offering up knowledge that had been common in the reports of the time. He found himself internally wondering how Innis would react if he knew the truth. It wasn't that much more far-fetched than some of his theories.

"It's a shame, though," Innis commented, pushing the last of his fries through the dripped sauces on his plate. "At this point, we'll probably never know what happened to those kids. The families gave them up for dead long ago, some of them even before I started asking questions for my book. A few didn't want to talk to me because of it."

"You think?" Cloud asked. He had finished his beer a while ago and had resisted the waitress's multiple attempts to wheedle him into another. "Forensics has improved so much. They've been able to solve cold cases that had been declared unsolvable because of it."

"Yeah, but there are cold cases and then there's this case." The other man shook his head. "No, I'm afraid this one is destined to remain a mystery."

"Well, you are the expert," Cloud commented with an internal smirk.

"Indeed I am," Innis agreed, then broke into a bright smile as the waitress appeared with their check. Cloud began to pull out his wallet, but the older man waved him off. "No, no, it's my treat. Consider it a thank you for the company and conversation."

Cloud shrugged and put his wallet back as Innis scanned the check and then handed it and a card to the waitress to take away. A few minutes later, she returned with his card, two copies of the receipt, and a pen.

"The top one is for me, and the bottom is for you," she explained, glancing at Innis shyly out of the corner of her eye. "Please come back and see us again."

"Oh, I _will_ ," he gushed to her, "but only if you promise to take care of me again. I simply can't bear the thought of anyone else."

The girl blushed to the tips of her triple-pierced ears. "I'll do my best, sir. Have a lovely day."

"Of course. You, too, Lindsay."

He smiled at her the whole time she walked to the kitchen, so when she turned slightly just before going in, he had her eyes on her when she looked back. The blush deepened even further as she disappeared.

Cloud shook his head at the other man as he finally tore his eyes from their waitress to tend to the check. "You are something else. No wonder Viola can't stand you."

"I don't know what you mean," Innis replied smoothly. His brow had furrowed slightly as he read over the numbers. "I happen to firmly believe that every woman is beautiful and should be told so on a regular basis."

"I know a couple of women who would call that sexist and pound you into a pulp for it."

"And I'm sure they would look gorgeous doing it." The furrow had turned into an actual frown, even though the other's voice remained light and teasing.

Cloud shook his head at him again and smirked at the internal image of Tifa beating Innis into a pulp while the man gasped compliments at her. "You're from another era, Innis."

The words fell from his tongue without thought, but as they hit his ears, Cloud froze. Slowly he began putting pieces together.

"I'm well aware of that," Innis was replying to him, "and I wouldn't have it any other way."

_Trying to charm every female in sight. Actually succeeding with a fair number of them ..._

"What's wrong?"

Innis's bright eyes flicked up at Cloud's question before refocusing on the check. "Oh, I'm just trying to figure out the tips. Numbers have never been my strong point. That's what my agent is for."

_Good at English. Bad at math ..._

Cloud's eyes flickered to the other man's left hand. He didn't expect to find anything considering the amount of flirting the guy had been doing, but it was best to check. The fourth finger had no ring nor appeared to ever have had one.

" _What if he's married?" "He won't be."_

"Hey, Michael?" Cloud asked as Innis finally finished writing out the tip. "You said you grew up here?"

"Yeah, born and raised."

"Do you live here still?"

Innis shrugged one shoulder and plucked his hat off the back of his chair in preparation to leave. "Technically, yes. I have a small house that I'm never in since I do so much traveling for my job. I like to think that the world is my house, but according to the US government, I live here. And I guess," he added after a small pause, "if you forced me to pick somewhere as 'home', I would choose this place. It's where all my memories are, after all."

Cloud swallowed. This had to be a false positive. There was no way it was this easy. And yet, the more he looked at the older man in front of him, the more he thought about his personality and his life, the more obvious it became that there was no other possibility than this.

_Well, there's only one way to find out for sure._

"Are you doing anything this afternoon?" Cloud asked, trying to sound nonchalant and only mildly invested in the answer. "If you'd like, you can come over and see the house for yourself. Although," he added with a grin, "I am not letting you dig up my backyard."

Innis laughed a bit and then considered the offer. "I'm not really doing anything, no," he admitted. "I do still want to see if Viola will consent to spend some time with me. I know I drive her crazy, but we were once fairly good friends. She won't even consider it until the library closes, though, so I'm free until then." He eyed Cloud up and down for a moment, thinking. Then, his face broke into a smile, and he nodded. "Sure, why not? It'll be fun to see the old place again."

"Good," Cloud smiled back, relieved. If he played his cards right, he might be able to convince Innis to let Vincent hypnotize him. And even if that didn't happen, something in the house might trigger something in the older man that would convince Cloud absolutely that his guess was right. He would have to hide Squall, though, at least at first. Someone like Innis who had studied the case in depth would recognize the kid in an instant, and as his mother used to say, there was no need to bring out a katana to open an envelope.

The two men left the restaurant and headed back to the library together, but as they approached their vehicles, Cloud requested that the other man wait for one minute while he made a phone call. Innis graciously acquiesced and allowed Cloud to step away for a moment to pull out his phone. He called Vincent's cell since he didn't know if his guest would pick up the home line.

"Hello?"

"Vincent? I've found him and I'm bringing him to the house."

He must have caught the other man while he was deep in his research, for Vincent paused briefly before questioning, "What? Who are you bringing?"

Cloud turned just enough so he could see the tall man in the driver's cap standing a few feet away, smiling at the young mothers and old ladies with equal brightness as they exited the library. He grinned and replied, "Irvine Kinneas."


	12. Chapter 12

If any of Cloud’s neighbors had yet to lament the destruction of the neighborhood with the arrival of the young blond and his motorcycle, the canary-yellow convertible that followed him into his driveway surely would convince them to begin mourning.  Innis had driven the entire way with the top down and the Beach Boys blaring as if single-handedly campaigning for a never-ending summer.  Cloud had had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for Squall; otherwise, he would have sped away out of pure mortification.

“It looks exactly like I remember it,” Innis commented fondly once they had parked their respective vehicles.  He paused for a long moment in the front yard, just gazing up at the house with a soft smile on his face.  Cloud took the opportunity to strap his helmet to his bike and wheel it into the garage.  When he returned, he found that Innis’s contemplative look had turned dangerously mischievous.  “Are you _sure_ I can’t dig up the backyard some more?” he asked with a waggle of eyebrows.

“You get anywhere near a shovel,” Cloud informed him flatly, “and I will drop your ass faster than you can blink.”  Once the older man had finished laughing, Cloud tipped his head toward the front door.  “Come on in.”

He walked up to the house, opened the front door, and led Innis inside.  They paused in the hallway so Cloud could take his guest’s hat and coat and then continued on into the kitchen.  Or at least Cloud did.  The nosy journalist felt the need to stick his head into both side rooms for several seconds and even send a longing look up the stairs.

“Looks like you moved in rather recently,” he commented with a grin.  His hands indicated the boxes that were still taking up most of the dining room.

“Yeah.  It hasn’t been that long.”

“I do like what you’ve done with the place though,” Innis continued.  He waved at the newly-bare walls.  “If I remember correctly, this used to be giant roses with a sort of pink and green motif.”  He laughed again at Cloud’s confirming grimace and finally made his way down the hall and into the kitchen.

Vincent was waiting for them on the couch in the living room.  The man had his stocking feet up on the cushions and a book in his hands -- one of Cloud’s.  He hadn’t moved when Cloud arrived, but as Innis stepped into the kitchen, he gently placed a finger on the page he was reading and looked up with mild interest.  Cloud honestly couldn’t believe how good an actor the other was.  Vincent looked like he belonged in that house and always had.

“Vince,” Cloud introduced, “this is Michael Innis, the author and journalist.  I invited him over to see the house.  Michael, this is my friend Vincent.  He’s hanging out here for a while to help me unpack and settle in.”

Vincent gave Innis a small smile and head nod, and Innis did the same.  The introductions over, Vincent met Cloud’s gaze briefly and stated, “I put the cat in your bedroom,” before returning to the book in his hands with a casualness Cloud could only ever hope to attain.

“Good,” Cloud replied.  He understood, of course, exactly who Vincent meant by “the cat”.  He had, after all, been the one who had instructed Vincent to hide him away before he got home.  He really didn’t want to give Innis a heart attack the moment he stepped through the door.

Said man was gazing at Cloud, one eyebrow raised slightly in curiosity.  Cloud just shrugged at the unspoken question and answered, “He really doesn’t like strangers.”  Innis nodded, content with that explanation, and went back to his inspection of the kitchen.

As Innis wandered around and commented on random things, Cloud forced himself to breathe in and out slowly a few times.  Even though he had no idea what he was expecting from this, his nerves were jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane.  He hoped, of course, that the older man would see something that would trigger something in his mind, something that would let him and Vincent know that he was in fact the reincarnated Irvine Kinneas.  Unfortunately, the more Cloud watched the other man move about, the less likely it seemed that would happen.

“Looks like you haven’t done much with the kitchen yet, but I can understand that.  Countertops and cabinets are expensive.  And these aren’t too bad.  No roses at least.”

Innis knew this house.  Of course he did.  He had lived in the neighborhood, known the couple who had lived here before.  And he had done extensive research for his book.  He knew the layout of the building, the history it held.  He even remembered the awful decor.

“Someone put in a few new trees in the back.  Not much else has changed, though.  Just gotten taller and older.  Ha, right there, right under that maple.  My friends and I dug that spot up so badly that Mary threatened to whip us and then call the cops on us.  I still remember bragging to Viola about it.  She was so mad at me!”

With a growing sense of disappointment, Cloud realized that if Innis were going to be triggered by something in this house, it would have happened years ago.  Cloud may have changed all the furniture and ripped down all the wallpaper, but the house itself remained fundamentally the same.  Innis had been through the house many times, and nothing had ever spoken to him.  Nothing had connected with him.  Nothing would connect with him now.  After all, it wasn’t as if there was anything --

“Well, _that’s_ new.”

Surprised, Cloud looked up to find Innis staring across the room to the opposite wall.  He followed the other man’s line of sight, and all of his previous nervousness came flooding back as he realized what he had found.

“It leads to the basement,” he commented with as much calm as he could manage with such a dry mouth.

Innis threw him a look of confusion and gestured vaguely at the other basement door.  “That one leads to the basement,” he stated.  “Why did you put in a second one?”

“I didn’t.  It was there when I moved in.”  His guest was still staring at him in confusion, so he threw in a lie to make it more believable.  “I found it under the wallpaper, boarded up.  I just took down the boards and hung a door.”

The older man’s expression cleared slightly, but he still frowned.  “Seems like overkill to have two entrances to a basement that small.  It doesn’t even span half the house.”

He had no idea how, but by the grace of some god somewhere, Cloud kept his voice steady as he stated, “Actually, that one leads to a second part of the basement, separate from the first part.”

Instantly, Innis’s face lit up like all the fireworks on the Fourth of July combined.  “ _Really?_ ” he cried, eyes positively dancing.  “There’s a _secret basement_?”  He crossed the space between them so quickly that Cloud barely had any time to react before the older man had gripped him by the upper arms and brought their faces together.  “Have you been down there?” he whispered conspiratorially.  “What’s down there?  Did you find any bodies?”

“Um, no.  I mean, yes.  I mean,” Cloud stammered as he tried simultaneously not to laugh at Innis’s wild, child-like enthusiasm and to pry the man’s gripping fingers from his arms.  “I did go down there, but it was just a study with a bunch of books and a bare back room.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.  And the way Innis had said ‘bodies’ sort of implied a prepended ‘dead’ which he had definitely not found.

“Doesn’t matter,” the journalist replied, still grinning like a madman.  “It’s a secret basement!”  His eyes darted to the door briefly before returning to bore into Cloud’s.  “Can I see?” he asked hopefully.

“Knock yourself out,” Cloud replied.  His guest gave a little whoop, finally released his grip on Cloud’s biceps, and rushed over to the door, hand outstretched to grasp the doorknob.

That hand stopped an inch above the metal, the body attached to it suddenly frozen in place.

The whirlwind that had been Michael Innis with a new lead had been so crazy and intense that the sudden and complete absence of it shocked Cloud into a momentary paralysis.  When he recovered, he slowly crossed to the other man’s side, each step on the tiled floor echoing eerily in the sudden silence.  Innis did not move at his approach; he remained as still as a statue, one hand reaching forward but never arriving at its destination.  As he approached, Cloud lifted a hand to grasp the other man’s shoulder, but the second he came close enough to see the journalist’s face, he let his hand drop back to his side and took a small step in the opposite direction.

Innis was terrified.  Or, more accurately, petrified.  His blue eyes were enormously wide, their focus the knob just beneath his trembling hand.  The excitement and joy had vanished from his face, leaving it lined, sickly pale, and shining with the moisture that was beginning to bead along his hairline.  He was breathing rapidly, shallowly, a hair’s breadth from hyperventilation.  His heart was beating so fast that Cloud could actually see the cadence of it pulsing against the side of his neck.

“Michael?” Cloud tried quietly.  Behind him, Vincent rose to his feet and moved toward them.

At his voice, Innis managed to catch one slightly deeper breath, the panicked rush of it squealing out of him in a pathetic sort of whimper.  And then his whole body was shaking slightly, a steady, insistent quaking.

Extremely concerned, Cloud looked back and met Vincent’s eyes.  Silently, his friend indicated the door and gave Cloud a slow but determined nod.  Cloud nodded back and turned to face Innis again.  He was still worried, but if the magical expert in the house thought it was a good idea, he wasn’t going to argue.

Carefully, he reached for the doorknob, taking great care not to touch Innis’s hand as he did so.  He managed to grip it and turn it without a reaction.  However, the moment the latch clicked and the door began to swing forward, Innis launched himself at the door and slammed it back shut.  Cloud caught a momentary glimpse of madness within terrified blue eyes; the next second he was on the floor in a sprawl of limbs as Innis fled like all the residents of Hell were chasing him.

“Michael!” Cloud called, scrambling to his feet.  Vincent had apparently attempted to stop the journalist but had fared just as poorly.  Cloud only had a moment to process the sight of the wizard toppled head over heels before he heard his back door being violently wrenched open.  Instinctively, he followed Innis’s flight; the man clearly wasn’t in his right mind anymore and couldn’t be allowed to get away.

Innis had a good head start on him, but Cloud was a fast runner.  Added to that was the fact that the journalist’s panic caused him to stumble more than once as he bolted headlong across Cloud’s backyard.  He had only managed to get about halfway across the property by the time Cloud caught up to him, tackling him to the ground from behind.  Even once he had been downed, Innis tried to get away, wriggling and crying and clawing at the ground.  Words fell from his mouth as he fought, but they were so rushed and drowned in adrenaline-soaked terror that Cloud couldn’t understand them.

Somehow Cloud managed to flip the older man over and sat heavily on his hips as he pinned flailing hands to the grass in an attempt to keep Innis from hurting himself.  He spit out the mouthful of dirt that he had acquired during the struggle and glared at Vincent who had finally caught up to them.

“ _Please_ tell me you can fix this,” Cloud demanded.  He wasn’t sure which was worse: the dirt in his mouth or the possibility that one of his neighbors was witnessing this and about to call the cops on him.

Vincent replied by lifting a hand and beginning to chant quietly.  Just like it had the night Kramer had attacked them, a tension began to form in the air around them.  The stronger the spell got, the less Innis moved, but he was not relaxing.  Instead, all of the man’s muscles seemed to go taut until he was frozen again, this time in a rigor-mortis-like stretch, his eyes wide with fear and pain.  And then the tension broke as it had the other night, and Innis jolted once as if struck and then fell into a boneless faint.

Cloud waited for a moment to make sure Innis was breathing steadily and normally before climbing off of him.  Still glowering, he looked up at Vincent and declared, “I’m no wizard, but that sure as hell looked like a fear spell to me.”

His friend merely made a small noise of acknowledgement, dark eyes trained thoughtfully on the downed journalist while one hand rubbed idly at the other elbow.  After a long, quiet moment, he said, “Let’s get him into the house before he wakes up.”

Sighing, Cloud looked down at the long-legged, undoubtedly-heavy dead weight in front of him and agreed.

They managed to get Innis into the house relatively easily and deposited him on the couch to recover.  Vincent was still rubbing at his injured elbow, so Cloud went into the kitchen to get him a bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel.  His friend thanked him with a small smile, but it soon faded away to be replaced by that same concerned thoughtfulness that he had seen outside.

“What’s wrong?” he prodded, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest.  “I don’t like that look on your face.  That look usually means we’re screwed in some way.”

Vincent laughed lightly and tried to clear his expression.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized.  “I was just thinking.”

“About that spell?” Cloud guessed and frowned when the other man nodded.  “What of it?  You think it wasn’t a fear spell?”

“No, it was clearly the same type of spell that Kramer used on you Friday night.  I’m just not sure how she anchored it.”  His eyes slipped out of focus and his brow furrowed as he continued, “It clearly wasn’t anchored to the door or it would have affected you or me before now.  And she’s not here to anchor it herself; I’ve made that impossible with my barriers.”  Slowly, his eyes shifted to the figure on the couch.  “She must have anchored it to his soul, which is … well.”  Slowly, Vincent took a breath and blew it out again.  He smiled ruefully at Cloud and finished, “I knew she was powerful, but that is a skill far beyond anything I know.”

Cloud rolled his eyes and responded, “Like I said: screwed.”  Vincent laughed quietly at him for a moment, and Cloud waited until he was done to ask, “So you think I’m right then?  About him being Irvine Kinneas?”  It certainly seemed like it to Cloud, although the joy of finding the first soul so quickly had definitely been lessened by their madcap dash across his lawn.

In response to his question, Vincent shrugged one shoulder and said, “I think it’s very likely he’s one of them at least.  Although I’d have to hypnotize him to be sure.”

Cloud opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a quiet groan from the other room.  Both men reacted instantly, pushing off of their respective walls and heading quickly into the living room to check on Innis.  The journalist was starting to sit up, one hand on his head as if suffering from a hangover.  When Cloud and Vincent entered the room, he flicked bleary eyes up to them and then released a louder groan, covering his face with both hands.

“Hey,” Cloud greeted in a low voice, kneeling down beside the couch.  “You okay now?”

Innis’s hands muffled his voice, but Cloud could still hear the embarrassment in it as the older man replied, “Please tell me I didn’t just have a panic attack in your kitchen.”

“Yeah, okay I can do that.  I’d be lying though.”

A third, even louder groan escaped Innis as he fell back against the couch again and dropped his hands from his face.  “That’s it!” he declared.  “I give up.  I am officially insane.”  Before Cloud could ask him what he meant, the man was babbling to himself, waving his hands about for emphasis.  “Everyone has been telling me for years that this was going to happen.  ‘You’re too obsessed with that case, Mike.’  My parents, my editor, everyone.  ‘It’s going to drive you crazy one day.’  And I was always like, ‘No, I’m _fine_ , there’s nothing crazy going on here.  I just think it’s really interesting, you know?’  And then Friday happens, and now this, and … and I just give up.  Someone put me in a nice room with padded walls because I’m obviously losing it.”

Cloud exhaled sharply, his breath having caught near the beginning of the man’s second-to-last sentence.  “Friday?” he asked eagerly.  “What happened Friday?”

Innis’s blue eyes flickered to him briefly before looking away again.  “Oh nothing much,” he replied airily, obviously trying to hide how upset he was.  “I was in D.C. -- you know, where I work, where I’m _supposed_ to be -- when suddenly on Friday morning I get this terrible, all-consuming feeling that I need to go home.  To be _here_.  I thought maybe my Mom was dying or something, that she was in the hospital and they just hadn’t had enough time to contact me.  I dropped everything and caught the first flight here.”  He paused, closed his eyes and shrugged.  “She’s fine.  Absolutely nothing wrong with her.  Absolutely no reason for me to have raced across several states to get here.  I felt like a complete idiot.”

Slowly, Cloud sat back on his heels and turned his head to look at Vincent.  The other man had one eyebrow raised, and as he caught Cloud’s gaze, he nodded.  Neither of them had any doubt anymore.

“Mr. Innis,” Vincent said in that smooth, low voice of his, “I wonder, have you ever had dreams regarding the Kramer case?  Dreams in which you were a participant?”

The journalist snorted violently and opened his eyes to glare disbelievingly at the other man.  “I researched this case for the better part of two years.  It was my _life_.  Of _course_ , I dreamed about it.”

“Yes, but,” Cloud insisted, keeping his own voice quiet as well, “were they general dreams where you were an outsider looking in?  Or were you a part of it?  Maybe one person in particular.”

Slowly, Innis sat up and swung his legs off of the couch so he was sitting up with his elbows resting against his thighs and his hands hanging between his legs.  He sat quietly for a minute, head and shoulders bowed, before replying, “I can’t remember them all, but I think I was always the Kinneas kid.”  He shrugged lightly and stated, “I always felt a sort of connection with that kid.  He reminded me of me at that age.”  Finally, he lifted his head and leveled an appraising stare on the other two men.  “Why are you asking me this?”

Again, Cloud looked to Vincent for guidance.  They hadn’t discussed this part.  Finding Kinneas had been the main goal; they hadn’t figured out yet what to do once they found him.  Thankfully for Cloud, Vincent seemed willing to take over this part of the conversation.

“Mr. Innis, do you believe in reincarnation?”

Innis snorted.  “No.  And what does that have to do with anything?”

Vincent leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, taking on that professorial tone to which Cloud had become so accustomed.  “Normally, I would say nothing.  Reincarnation as it is usually defined does not occur naturally.  Your case, however, is an anomaly.  Your soul was forced to switch bodies in its entirety, resulting in a true reincarnation.”

“What the actual hell,” Innis interrupted him in a flat voice.  He flicked his eyes back and forth between the other two men, and Cloud could see him putting the pieces together in his mind.  “Are you trying to tell me that you guys think I’m one of the murdered kids reincarnated?” he asked.  “That, what?  My fascination with this case is just some subconscious way for me to find closure for my murder in a previous life?”

Cloud held his breath as Vincent gazed at Innis for a long moment before answering, “Yes, Mr. Kinneas.  That is exactly what we’re trying to tell you.”

Innis jerked as if he had just been electrocuted.  To Cloud’s surprise, he raised a shaking finger and stabbed it in Vincent’s direction.  “Don’t call me that!” he ordered.  “Don’t you _ever_ call me that again!  That is _not_ my name.”  The conviction in his voice started to falter and his hand dropped as he finished, “My name is Michael Innis.  Michael Stephen Innis.  Not … not ...”

Cloud’s knees were starting to burn from his kneeling position, so he stood up and sat next to Innis on the couch.  He placed a sympathetic hand on the older man’s shoulder.  “It’s okay, Michael,” he said.  “At least you’ve got a decent soul in you.  I’m stuck with Almasy.”  He grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood.

Innis stared at him for half a beat before grinning back.  “Almasy?  Okay, yeah.  That’s worse.  Not that I believe any of this for a second,” he added, throwing a look at Vincent.  When Vincent just shrugged, he challenged, “So are you Dincht or Leonhart?”

“Neither,” Cloud answered for his friend.  “Vincent is the one helping me sort through all of this.”

“All of what?” Innis returned immediately.  His eyes narrowed as he searched Cloud’s face.  “Is this the reason you invited me back here?” he asked.  “Because you think you’re the reincarnated Seifer Almasy and I’m the reincarnated Irvine Kinneas?  What, do you think _all_ the kids got reincarnated and you’re trying to find them?”

“Sort of, yes.”  When Innis gave him a look of disbelief, Cloud huffed and said, “Look, do you want something to drink or something?  This is going to take a while to explain, and it’s just going to get weirder as we go.”

“Fine!” the older man cried, throwing his hands up and flopping back against the couch.  “I said I give up, didn’t I?  I’m crazy.  You’re crazy.  Let’s all be crazy together.”

Sighing, Cloud got up and went to the kitchen to fetch water for all three of them.  When he came back, he resumed his place on the couch -- Vincent had not moved from the wall -- and began to talk.  He explained how he had needed to buy the house the moment he had seen it, the dreams he had had leading him to the door, and the discovery of the mystical circle in the basement which had led to him contacting Vincent.  He kept Squall out of it for now, wanting to feed Innis the supernatural pieces a bit at a time.  The man’s face had already shut down before Cloud had even started, and the more he talked, the more it felt like he was speaking to a wall.

“So you’re saying,” Innis finally said when Cloud paused for a moment for breath, “that Kramer was some sort of devil worshipper and killed those kids to use them as human sacrifice?”  He stared at Cloud steadily, both his eyes and his voice flat and emotionless.

“Not a devil worshipper,” Cloud corrected, carefully watching the other’s face.  “A witch.  And the kids were components in a spell to give her immortality.  That’s what the notes we found in the basement said.”  When Innis didn’t react in any way, he continued, “That’s why your soul was reborn in its entirety.  Because you’re part of the spell.  And that’s why Vincent and I are trying to find all four of you, so we can break it.”

At those words, blue eyes widened to round saucers.  “I take it back,” Innis said in a half-whisper.  “I may be going crazy, but you two are already there.”  His eyes flicked back and forth between them, the slightest bit of fear shining through.  “Everything you just said, you actually believe it, don’t you?”  Laughing hollowly, he ran a hand through his hair and said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s no such thing as magic and witches and spells.  It’s a fairy tale.  It’s _fantasy_.”

Cloud swallowed and put his water on a side table.  It was time to bring out the big guns.  “Vincent, show him.”

“Certainly.  What would you like me to show?”

“Start with my soul.”

“Very well.”

The wizard waved his hands, and the sparkling image of Cloud’s soul appeared on the adjacent wall.  Innis jumped and made a little noise of surprise, but he quickly recovered.

“Okay, very cool,” he said, looking at the ceiling and behind the couch.  “How did you do it?  Projector, right?  Where is it?”

Cloud ignored him and pointed at the circle of darker section shimmering against the lighter color.  “That’s Almasy,” he explained.  “My soul isn’t a full reincarnation like yours is.  I have a mostly normal soul, but Almasy refused to merge with the rest of it like the stubborn bastard he is.  That dark part right there is what has been giving me my dreams and all the impulses related to this house.”  He turned his eyes to his friend and asked, “Can you do Michael’s now?”

To his surprise, Vincent shook his head.  “I will not perform magic on someone without their consent.”  He shifted his eyes to the other man on the couch and asked, “Mr. Innis, do I have your permission to project your soul as I have done with Cloud?”

The journalist was still looking for the non-existent projector, but he jumped slightly at Vincent’s question and turned his full attention on him nervously.  “Um, what?  You want to what?”

“You won’t feel a thing,” Cloud assured him.  “Seriously.  It doesn’t even tickle.”

“Wait!  Wait a minute!” Innis cried, throwing his hands up in front of himself as if for protection.  “This is insane!  I don’t know what you guys want with me, but if you think I’m going to agree to be a part of your weird voodoo --”

“I do not engage in voodoo,” Vincent interrupted.  He sounded genuinely offended, and had the situation been different, Cloud would have laughed.

“It’s just a simple spell,” he tried to explain instead.  “Vince is just going to make a projection of your soul against the wall so we can look at it.”

“Oh my God, do you hear yourselves?  Magic is _not real_!  You guys are crazy!”

“We’re trying to prove to you that we’re not.  All you have to do is agree to let Vincent --”

“No!  No, leave me alone!  I refuse to stay any longer and listen to this --”

“Oh, for _chrissakes_ , Irvine!  Stop being such a fucking _wuss_ and say yes already!”

Cloud slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in shock.  That had _not_ been his voice.  Across the room, Vincent looked at him in surprise and concern.  Next to him, Innis, who had begun to rise in preparation to leave, slowly sank back down onto the couch.  His eyes were just as wide as Cloud’s and just as stunned.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Not wasting a moment in case the other man changed his mind, Vincent spoke his spell and threw Innis’s soul up on to the wall next to Cloud’s.  The majority of it looked very similar to the majority of his: a mass of sparkling color that moved and shimmered.  Also similar to Cloud’s was the smaller section that did not look like the rest; unlike Cloud’s, Innis’s second piece was a lighter color than the rest of his soul and did not move at all.  It was also ringed with a dark line that seemed to have intricate patterns woven into it at different places.

Vincent sighed and walked a bit closer to the image.  “There’s the fear spell,” he said solemnly, indicating the black ring.  “She _did_ anchor it directly into his soul, and surrounding the stolen piece no less.”  He frowned heavily and crossed his arms as he stared at it.  “This is not going to be easy.”

“You haven’t let me down yet,” Cloud told him, trying to smile.

His friend gave him a grateful look and asked, “You okay?”  The additional question of “ _You still you?_ ” was implied but remained unspoken.

“Yeah,” Cloud replied to both with a nod.  “Guess he just wanted to come out to yell at someone.”

“What … ?” Innis asked quietly, his voice small and scared.  “What is going on?”  Cloud turned to look at him and found that the tall man was doing his best to meld with the couch cushions.  His tall frame was hunched and tight; his face was pale and his eyes wide.  He looked young.  He looked … seventeen.

“Vince,” Cloud said softly.  “Go get the cat, would you?”  

Vincent nodded and exited the room.

Once he had left, Cloud rose from the couch and walked over to the wall.  “This is your soul,” he explained to those staring blue eyes.  He placed his palm in the center of the main section and said, “This is the normal part.  Almost everyone’s soul looks like this.  This part,” he continued, indicating the black ring, “is why you freaked out when you tried to open the basement door.  It’s a fear spell, put there by Kramer and probably triggered by the door.  You don’t need to be ashamed of it, by the way.  I know exactly what it feels like.  Kramer put one on me last Thursday night.”  He paused a moment to see if Innis would react, and when he didn’t, finished by pointing to the frozen section within the ring.  “And this part is why we need you.”

“Is …” Innis tried, failed, swallowed, tried again.  “Is that Irvine Kinneas’s soul?”

Cloud shook his head.  “No.  From what I understand based on what Vincent has said, this main part is both you _and_ Irvine Kinneas.  You’re the same person, just with different names.  No, this part is Squall’s.”

“Leonhart?  Why do I -- ?”  The question died away half-formed, and Innis’s eyes widened even further as a new figure entered the room.  Cloud didn’t have to look to know who it was.  “That’s … that’s not possible,” the stunned man whispered.  “Now I know I’m insane.”

Slowly, Squall took a few more steps into the room and then stopped, his face unsure.  Cloud immediately went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey, kid,” he said, for no other reason than to let Squall know where he was.  In response, Squall turned his head in Cloud’s direction and gave a little smile.  Behind him, Vincent slipped into the room and resumed his place against the wall, a smile on his face as well.

Turning to the man on the couch, Cloud said, “Michael, let me introduce you to Squall Leonhart.  Squall, this is Michael Innis, formerly Irvine Kinneas.  I think you guys knew each other once,” he added with a small smirk.

Squall followed the direction of Cloud’s voice, an expression of mild interest on his face, but Innis seemed to shrink even further in on himself.  “No,” he breathed.  “No, that can’t be right.  It’s some sort of trick.”  His wild eyes sought out Cloud’s as he babbled, “It’s a trick.  He’s just a relative.  A relative who looks a lot like him.  Ellone’s grandkid, right?  Or a nephew or something.  There’s no way that that’s … There’s _no way_!”

Cloud opened his mouth to reply, but just then Squall took a step out from under his hand towards Innis.  Carefully, he made his way over to the couch and, using a hand on the armrest to guide him, knelt down in front of the trembling journalist.  He was smiling, not in the gentle way he smiled for Cloud but with a hint of sorrow and loneliness.  Once he had settled, he reached out and, after finding Innis’s arm, slid his grip down to take the older man’s hand.

In response, Innis let out a shuddering breath and very carefully raised a hand to Squall’s face.  He pushed long brown bangs out of the other’s eyes.  “Oh my God,” he whispered.  “Oh my God.   _Squall_ _…_ ”

“Cloud!” Vincent hissed, and Cloud whipped his head around to see what his friend was indicating.  The image of Innis’s soul against the wall was pulsing, a strange double beat that could have been two hearts pumping just slightly out of time with each other.

“It’s you.  It really _is_ you.  How … ?  Why … ?”

Fascinated, Cloud watched as the gap between the two pulses diminished until there was only a second between them, then less than a second.

“Oh my God, what did she do to you?  What did she do to _me_?”

One final pulse, dazzlingly bright, and a wave of color rippled through the image of Innis’s soul, leaving it calm and exactly as it had been before.  Cloud blinked, thrown by just how anticlimactic it was.  He frowned, disappointment beginning to creep into him until he realized that Innis had collapsed against Squall’s shoulder, sobbing.  His expression cleared, and, quietly, he walked back to the couch and resumed his seat while Vincent undid his spells and released the images.

“I remember,” Innis cried, his face half-buried in Squall’s shirt.  “I remember everything.  I am Irvine Kinneas.  I died.  I was murdered.  I remember it all.”  Suddenly, he lifted his head and fixed desperate, streaming eyes on Cloud’s face.  “Selphie!  My Selphie.  You said we were all reincarnated, right?  Where is she?”

Cloud’s heart ached.  He had done it.  Against all odds, he had found Irvine Kinneas, brought him here, and made him remember.  And yet this didn’t feel anything like a victory.  Not yet.  Not when there were still three to go.

“I don’t know,” he replied to Irvine’s question as kindly as he could.  “We haven’t found her yet.  But we will.  I promise.”

The other man nodded, unable to say anything more.  Tears continued to fall as he turned back to Squall and rested his forehead against the younger man’s, his hands on the other’s shoulders.  Squall had begun to cry as well, quiet tears that slid gently down his still-smiling face.  He closed his unseeing eyes and Irvine Kinneas did the same, the two simply existing in each other’s presence for the first time in almost fifty years.

Cloud leaned back against his couch, shared a smile with Vincent across the room, and just let them be.


End file.
